The Perfect Flaw
by Juclesia
Summary: AU. Bulma's lived her entire life under Saiyan rule, never even having seen her home planet. But can a dream of freedom be enough to encourage her to escape? Or will a certain Prince stop her from doing so? R&R!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ

**Summary: **Bulma's lived her entire life under Saiyan rule, never even having seen her home planet. For 22 years she's been trapped as a slave, serving her King and Prince. But can a dream of freedom be enough to encourage her to escape? Or will a certain Prince stop her from doing so?

_**The Perfect Flaw**_

_**Prologue**_

_Geldin 25, 451 a.d._

_Dear Diary,_

_Hi. My name is Bulma Briefs_. _A lot's been happening in my life lately, and I've finally decided to start a journal._

_Before I get into the present stuff, let's back up a bit, shall we? Like I said, my name is Bulma and I'm 3.1 moons (though a fellow human told me that's around 22 years or so). My whole life, ever since I can remember, I've lived on this planet, Planet Vegeta. Though this is true, I'm also aware that I was born on a planet named Earth, though I'm sad to say I've never actually **seen**_ _it. I hope to someday; I hear it's a beautiful place._

_Yes, as you can imagine,_ _I am a slave among the Saiyans— oh! Right! The Saiyans. I have to say I've adapted to living with them, even though they really are cruel and heartless at times. They're extremely powerful beings that use 'ki', a natural energy from within their bodies. So technically, they themselves are the weapon, armed 24.7— anyway, I'm a technological slave, which means I'm not actually **owned**_ _by one Saiyan. I guess I have it luckier than some, you could say. Every day I work in the "Science Wing" where I use my intelligence to create inventions which will help the growth of Saiyan Economy. Depending on the invention, and whether it turns out to be profitable, one can get rewarded: usually with a larger cell— or dorms as we hard workers like to call them— with small additional luxuries._

_Planet Vegeta is a monarchy by the way. King Vegeta's currently the ruler, commanding his kingdom with a stoical persona and a menacing temper. But many say that the King is reaching the end of his days, and when the time comes, his son, Prince Vegeta, will take over the throne. Though, it's hard to tell if this is a good thing._

_Well, I think that's all I have to say for now, I'll tell you if I forgot to mention something or not in my next entry._

_**Chapter I**_

Bulma paced her dorm anxiously, her hand settled pensively under her chin and her thin brows furrowed in deep thought.Meanwhile her cerulean eyes fixed firmly on the incomplete invention across from her, begging for her attention.

She was diligently brainstorming on how to finish her new device; she could use a few more pillows and blankets: velvet to be precise, and this new invention was going to be the ticket. She had a knack for creating just the right things that would impress the Saiyans, and she had already won numerous mentions for her pieces. But something wasn't right. Maybe she had worked herself too hard. It seemed like no matter what she did, her brain was just too exhausted.

Giving a sigh of defeat, the weary scientist let herself slouch lazily forward as she dragged her feet to bed. She collapsed onto the sheets while staring absentmindedly at the dorm ceiling.

Bulma wasn't sure how much time passed as she lay and let her thoughts drift to life in general: whether or not it could get better than this somehow. Maybe someday being able to sleep on satin sheets within a ravishing, embellished chamber, or escaping from this life of slavery.

Though of course, she was wise never to let these thoughts wander too far, for she knew of the consequences.

But still . . . .

Crawling under the thin covers, she shook herself forcefully from her unrealistic fantasies. It would never happen. There was no use daydreaming about something that was infinitely impossible. After all, as the Saiyans would say: "Be happy with what you've got."

And that's exactly what she was. She was jubilant with what she had. Whoop-di-doo.

But still . . . .

No. No.

Before she could get carried away with her reveries, she leaned over to her flimsy night stand, and blew out the candle . . .

Along with any of her lingering hopes.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

_Geldin 26, 451 a.d._

_Dear Diary,_

_Sorry about that. There is something I forgot to mention in my last entry. The thing is, I don't really have any family— wait— that came out wrong. I **do**_ _have family, but none on Vegeta. There all back on Earth. That is, if they're even still alive. But I know I did have family because a few years ago, on my birthday, my 'father' sent me a necklace. I'm actually surprised the Vegeta-import guards let me keep it. I guess they considered it harmless, and thank God, too_. _It was a golden locket with my mother and father's pictures embedded into it; I've cherished it ever since._

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Bulma all but staggered into the lab as pains lurched sharply in her abdomen, causing her to wince subconsciously. She was surprised she managed to make it to her station without drawing much attention, she could have sworn people would make a scene. Carefully she lowered herself into her station chair, releasing a sigh of relief. It was times like this that she rued the day she was born a female.

"Hey, Bulma!"

Bulma whirled around, coming face to face with her handsome colleague. Her face flamed red at the thought of him seeing her keeled over because of menstrual pains. "Oh! H-hey, Mark."

Like herself, Mark was a human as well: captured from Earth just as she had been, only a bit more recent. He was the one who had taught her English and had told her multiple stories of the Earth culture that she so longed to experience. He stood tall and lean with a heartwarming grin. "How's that invention coming?"

Bulma hesitated as another pain rippled through her lower abdomen. "O-oh," she strained, "well, I think I'm having a mild case of inventor's block right now. So I haven't really gotten that far on it yet."

Mark's smile broadened. "Well, if you want those improvements in your dorm, you better act quick before someone else gets the prize first."

Bulma forced a tight smile. She felt her temper wavering. "Heh, heh . . . yeah, right."

"Oh, I almost forgot!" he exclaimed suddenly, reaching his hand slowly into his lab coat pocket. From there he retrieved a ravishing Blelinn rose, one of the most beautiful flowers on Vegeta. He held it steadily in front of her, allowing its heavenly aroma to soothe her senses. She couldn't believe it. So Mark liked her that way, huh? To think, he'd had years to do this, and he was just doing it now. To be perfectly honest, she'd been waiting for him to do something like this.

But the thing was, Bulma wasn't sure _she _liked him that way. Sure, she wouldn't deny him being handsome; not to mention he being one of the only other human males there. It was just, well, she always seemed to find it difficult to imagine them together . . . _kissing_.

"How'd you like to have dinner with me in the dining hall next week?"

She knew that had been coming. She silently wondered, if she were to accept, if perhaps it would grow into a kinda sweet relationship between them; whether or not it would be too difficult to maintain a relationship in Vegeta's palace.

But hey . . . how many opportunities like this would she get in her lifetime? Who knew? She'd give it a try. "Sure, why not?"

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Later that day, Bulma made her way down the Left wing toward the dining hall, gnawing viciously on her pencil as she studied the designs on her clipboard. All was silent except for the soft pit-pat of her feet and the grinding of her jaws. _Now, if I put that there, and then— no, wait— that wouldn't work. Well maybe if I put this here—no— that wouldn't work either._

An abruptly faint, distracting noise filtered gradually through her mind, causing her to lose track of her thoughts. She gave a growl of frustration. What was that damn noise? Somewhere in her head, it reminded her of distant battle cries. Was there a fight going on? It was actually quite common: servants or slaves getting into skirmishes over a piece of food or sometimes, if their standards were low enough, clothing.

Audaciously Bulma continued down the hall, noting how the sound grew louder. She was getting closer.

But she suddenly halted as she came to an intersection in the hall and came to a dreadful realization. This wasn't the West Wing. She must have been so engrossed in her thoughts she hadn't realized she'd gone the wrong way. She wasn't even exactly sure where she was now. A few feet in front of her stood a large cylindrical wall, and beyond she only guessed that it was where the noise was coming from. Her breath caught in her throat. _S-should I? I'm not even supposed to be here._

Gathering up her courage, she tiptoed forward, making her way cautiously toward one of the circular windows. She raised her head just high enough to be able to steal a short glimpse. Her eyes widened at the sight.

Inside the cylindrical room levitated two Saiyans, one large and unfamiliar; the other Bulma recognizing right away.

The Prince.

He and his father were feared by all, slaves and Saiyans alike. The mere thought of being so close to him, so close to his ruthless, raw power sent chills up Bulma's spine.

He hovered stoically, his built arms folded tightly over his chest, his furrowed brows casting a shadow and darkening his black orbs. Meanwhile his opponent had broken sweat and was now slouching slightly, panting heavily. _He must be training,_ Bulma thought in awe, studying the vexed Prince. She couldn't prevent her eyes from scanning over his body, tracing the contours of his god like muscles that must have taken his whole like to form.

She wouldn't deny it. She was attracted to him . . . well, physically anyway. The guy was a cold, heartless monster for God's sake! She couldn't fall for a guy who spent every day enslaving innocent people from all over the universe, just for the hell of it.

His mouth was moving now; he was saying something. Next thing she knew, both Saiyans had landed back on to ground, and were striding haughtily in her direction.

Panic flooded overwhelmingly through Bulma's veins at that moment, and instinctively she ducked from view. She heard the hiss as the door opened. Frantically she scrambled on all fours in an attempt to get as far away from the door as she could. She lay still as stone against the wall, watching as the Prince and his sparring partner's forms disappeared from sight down the Wing from which she'd initially come. It was only then that she realized she'd been holding her breath. She gave a heavy sigh. _That was too close. I could've been killed._

For safety, she remained in her uncomfortable position for a few more minutes, making sure they were really gone. She then climbed to her feet and started back down the hall, making a note-to-self: _Always watch where you're going._

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

_Geldin 26, 451 a.d._

_Dear Diary,_

_I'm ashamed of myself_. _I accidently_ _went down the wrong Wing today and stumbled upon the Prince's spar match. I came so close to getting caught, my heart's still racing. And even worse than that . . . I starting **staring**_ _at him. You know, **staring** at him._

_I'm so stupid sometimes._

_Good news is that I was asked to go to dinner with Mark. I just hope it turns out to go smoothly. _

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"Where to, M'Lord? Where to, where to!"

The Prince's scowl deepened. "Ask me again, Kitser, and you won't live long enough to care."

The servant pouted slightly, continuing to circle Vegeta as he walked. He decided to ignore the threat. "Does his Majesty wish to know what I came across today?"

"No."

"I began reading an interesting book called— oh, what was it— 'Fact or Myth' I believe," Kitser continued, oblivious to the Prince's clenched fists. "And I found something very intriguing. Have you heard of the 'Dragon Balls,' M'Lord?"

This on the other hand, caught the Saiyan's interest. Vegeta's brows crept upward in curiosity, his fists slowly relaxing as he waited for Kitser to explain. "Well," the servant began, happy to have gotten his Lord's attention, "they're supposedly _magic_. And they're said to have the power to grant three wishes; any wish the commander desires."

As Kitser spoke, Prince Vegeta couldn't help but imagine himself: ruler of the universe, with ultimate power and— and immortality. Yes, immortality: living forever with the universe at his very fingertips.

It was absurd. He scoffed suddenly, dismissing the obvious myth. "Rubbish."

But Kitser wasn't finished. "Well the peculiar thing is, there have been a plethora of reports of having come across such a phenomenon, including reports coming straight from Frieza's men themselves."

_**Frieza's** men? _But why would they have reported on such a silly notion? Unless Frieza had sent them on a search in the first place? And Frieza wasn't one to fall for a myth.

Perhaps there was something to this after all.

"So where are you headed, M'Lord?"

Vegeta growled at the question which he had specifically told Kitser not to repeat, and gave a groan of defeat. "I'm going to speak with my father."

They walked the rest in silence— well at least the Prince was silent as Kitser continued to babble on— until they came to two golden doors. Without hesitance Vegeta pushed through and strode in bitterly, scanning briefly for his father. The King sat quietly in the large throne, drumming his gloved fingers upon the armrest as he eyed his son wearily. "Finally."

The Prince rolled his eyes. "What do you want, you impatient old fool?" He spat coldly while crossing his arms. Meanwhile Kitser wisely backed away.

Angrily the King shot up from his throne and stormed down the carpeted stairs, his cape fluttering behind him. He came to a halt and stood before his offspring, his gaze impersonal and burning. "You've lost your respect," he accused in a low hiss. "What happened to the obedient boy I raised, who looked up to his father with pride and showed him some humble respect?"

Until then, Vegeta had evaded eye contact. Now, he turned his head to meet his father's glower. When he spoke, his voice was soft and cool: "He grew up."

The young Prince remained resolute as he took the first blow to the stomach, and then the second to the face. His father hadn't lost his touch. He wondered absently if he'd have bruises the next day.

He wasn't sure why he didn't fight back. It wasn't that he couldn't, hell, he'd probably beat the shit out of him. Maybe it was because, even though he refused to admit it, he had some pity for the old man. He knew his father was having a hard time letting go of the fact that the Empire wasn't looking up to him as they once had. They were turning to a new leader now. A youthful Prince Vegeta . . .

After the mild beating, the Prince and his servant left the room without a word . . .

And Vegeta wondered if that was why his father had summoned him.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"Thanks a bunch for the pain killers, Kett," said Bulma quietly, placing a comforting hand on her abdomen.

Doctor Kett waved a large green hand in dismiss. "Don't mention it. Anytime."

While he turned to attend to his clipboard, Bulma slid off the table and headed for the door, stopping when she heard Kett's voice behind her. "Just take one of those a day, and it should relieve the pain."

"Thanks again," she commented, exiting the room.

"See you later, Sapphire."

Bulma dragged down the hall, the earlier incident still on her mind. What would have happened to her if she had been caught? Would Prince Vegeta have fried her right then and there, or would he have thrown her in prison for the lecherous criminals? What if she had been caught? She just couldn't imagine the torture. They would never have believed her if she had told them it was an accident. And even if they had, they probably would have killed her anyway, just to satisfy their bloodlust.

So absorbed in her thoughts, she stopped when she walked into a hard chest. Startled she glanced up to find the messenger boy staring down at her with a lopsided grin. She then glimpsed to the side, noting it to be a coincidence how she just so happened to stop outside her door. "Is this your dorm?" She nodded. "Here you are, miss," he squeaked while pushing a package into her arms.

Distantly, Bulma found it amusing how the boy's tiny voice betrayed his enormous size. "T-thankyou," she stammered while studying the package. The boy gave a curt nod before spinning on his heel and, with much difficulty, skipping down the hall.

Perplexed, Bulma entered her dorm, examining the package thoroughly before setting it on the table next to her inventions. _It must be . . . from my parents. _Excitement pumped through her at this possibility, and she then began to eagerly shed the myriad of tape that secured the box.

Once unwrapped, she found herself erupting in ecstatic laughter as she stared at a brand new makeup kit. Delicately she took it in her fingers, running them along the surface and savoring the feel of something that came straight from her home: Earth.

_What the—?_

Bulma paused suddenly as her fingers met an unnatural bump on the bottom surface. Puzzled she flipped it over to find a very unfamiliar device that was about the size of her thumb. With great care she detached it from the kit, holding it a few more seconds for further examination. It was sort of, sticky, and she noticed a tiny button embedded into it. _Huh. I wonder what that does._

Timidly, she pressed it with her free hand, subconsciously wincing as she awaited an explosion of some sort. Instead, her hands disappeared from view, causing the contraption to levitate in mid-air while her eyes grew wide in disbelief. She looked down . . .

To find that she wasn't there. She opened her mouth, but no sound came.

"I-I'm invisible."

So this was the real gift, not the make up kit.

But what would she possibly want to do with invisibility?

A/N: PLEASE REVIEW!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I' don't own DBZ

_**The Perfect Flaw**_

_**Chapter II**_

_Geldin 29, 451 a.d._

_Dear Diary,_

_Sorry I haven't written in a while. I've been kinda . . . busy._

_First off, my parents sent me a gift a few days ago, and you'll never believe what it was. An invisibility device! Can you believe it! They had stuck it underneath a makeup kit so the guards wouldn't notice it— and there's nothing dangerous about a make up kit! So they let it through! Genius!_

_Anyway, I didn't know what to do with it at first. But then I had a great idea. I've been using it to sneak down the East Wing (where I'd accidently seen Prince Vegeta sparring) to watch the Prince train. I know, I know. I really am ashamed of my self. He's just so handsome! But really, that's not the only reason I do it. I'm also quite fascinated with 'ki'. The last time I saw it used in a fight was at the national death match (don't remember what it's really called) when I was ten. I don't really remember it though._

_My parents also sent a note along with their gift. I'll write it for you:_

Dear Bulma,

How are you doing? This gift from your father and I is a late birthday present. We know, we know. We're five years late, but it's the thought that counts. We hope you like it.

Love,

Mom and Dad

_I cried afterwards. _

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

_Geldin 32, 451 a. d._

_Rumors've been going around lately; about the Prince and King. It's said that a secret Palace Harem has been established, hidden in the Royal Wing somewhere. There've been disappearances of women, too, which I think may be increasing suspicion and anxiety among slaves. Especially since we slaves are soooo helpless. Kind of a scary thought, though_. _Being taken away to some dark place where a bunch of lustful monsters play with you as if you're some emotionless toy. Probably put leashes on you, too. Repulsive._

_And even scarier: I've seen them: the disappearances. Yesterday, while I was in my station, I turned to see Rekirett, a fellow colleague of mine. We'd been working together for some time; we had even had some pretty good conversations together. And there she was, surrounded by two, gigantic guards. I couldn't see what they were saying, but they beckoned her to follow them, and she complied. They then disappeared out the door, and I haven't seen Rekirett since._

_It gives me the chills, just knowing that at any minute, they could come in and grab me, and I'd never see light again._

_I sure hope these rumors aren't true._

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Bulma strode into the dining hall, squinting in an attempt to spot Mark in the crowds of slaves and servants. And there he was, well at least his arm anyway, waving vigorously to get her attention. She smiled as she stalked down the aisle, noting the strange feeling of victory as random eyes fell and locked upon her, momentarily forgetting about their meal. She had used the makeup kit her parents had sent her, applying with girlish glee the fire-red lipstick that made her lips appear lush and full, the blush which gave her skin a radiant glow, and the mascara that brought out the length of her long dark lashes. She felt beautiful, like a Queen.

As she sat down across from Mark, she noticed how his eyes took in her form and beauty, and the way his jaw hung limp. "Bulma!" he exclaimed. "You're outstanding! I really feel like I'm on Earth again! Where'd you get the makeup?"

Bulma could feel the color rise in her cheeks, and it wasn't the blush. "My parents sent it to me as a belated birthday gift."

Mark gave a wry smile. "Well I like it."

Having no desire to chat about her makeup all night, she decided to change the subject. She looked down to see a plate of Lerfenne, a common Saiyan dish. "So," she said with a slight grimace, "is this what's on the menu?"

"Afraid so."

Bulma pursed her lips and feigned delight. She supposed she was pretty much used to the food by now, even if it did still leave a horrible aftertaste in her mouth. She'd always dreamed of being of high status and dining on delicious, mouth-watering courses of turkey and ham and meat. Maybe the meal she was about to eat would be better if they at least spent a little longer than two minutes cooking it.

Timidly she took the first bite, letting the familiar texture settle on her tongue as she prepared to swallow. As an instinct, she'd trained herself not to look at food as she ate it: it reminded her of what was actually going into her mouth. Instead she let her eyes wander carelessly around the hall, peering on other couples that were also having a dinner date; singles who instead of eating the food merely stared at it in depression; ruffians accompanying each other at the same table, probably boasting about their nonexistent muscles. It was then that her gaze fell upon a Saiyan that had just entered the hall. He leaned nonchalantly against the wall, his eyes scanning over the crowds like a predator waiting to pounce. He was unfamiliar; probably a guard of some sort. But it was obvious he was a Saiyan by the long brown tail that wound tightly around his waist.

His stare stopped suddenly, falling upon a certain blue-haired scientist. Bulma's heart seemed to stop, and she nearly choked on her mouthful.

"Something wrong, Bulma?" Mark asked worriedly, waving a hand in front of Bulma's wide eyes.

The Saiyan was moving now, making his way down the aisles, his gaze still on her. Damn he was huge! With each step he took, his muscles seemed to ripple and the ground seemed to quake. Bulma gave an audible gulp. Horrid images of the Harem flooded through her mind, causing her shiver uncontrollably.

"Bulma!" Mark called again. "Bulma, what's wrong? You're shaking!" But she couldn't hear him. All she could hear were the Saiyan's monstrous steps that echoed like thunder as they made contact with the concrete floor. He halted behind Mark.

"What do you have on your face, little one?" he boomed, his voice deep and hungry. Lustfully his eyes ran her up and down , stripping every piece of clothing that covered her nakedness.

Startled Mark spun around, only to find himself staring at the giant's torso. The Saiyan's shadow seemed to engulf him, causing Mark to gawk in fear. Bulma found it even more nerve-racking when facing the fact that Mark wouldn't be able to protect her. Hell, she wouldn't blame him if he didn't even try. "Well?" the Saiyan repeated impatiently. "What is it?"

Bulma knew it would be wiser to answer than to ignore him. "M-makeup."

The monster smiled wickedly under his thin mustache, lust burning in his eyes. "Well whatever it is, I must say I'm impressed. It can even make a slave look delicious."

Bulma waited for Mark to do something. She would have thought that the last remark the Saiyan had made would have blown his top. Instead he sat with the same stupid look on his face, the same stare an infant would give while studying its own fingernails.

Her heart began to pound; she could see her life flashing before her very eyes. Well at least she knew one thing: if he was going to try to take her to the Harem, she wouldn't go down without a fight. She'd show this Saiyan what fingernails could do.

"Nappa!"

The three turned curiously to the new voice. Would surprises never cease? There in the entrance of the hall stood the mighty Prince, his chin lowered to regard the other Saiyan with an icy glare. Beside him stood his personal servant, also a scientist, Kitser the— er— toad looking thing. "Nappa, get over here, you idiot!"

Bulma guessed the giant in front of her was who the Prince was referring to. "I can't take my eyes off you for one second, can I?" the Prince said in annoyance. "I turned around and you'd disappeared! Stop fooling around, we have training to do!"

Nappa met Prince Vegeta's glare bravely before turning back to face the frightened couple. "Well," he snickered, backing away slowly, "I have to go now, little one. But I'll look for you again." And with that he spun on his heel and returned to the Prince's side where they then set off to the East Wing to spar.

After a moment of shock, Mark turned back around in his seat, his eyes meeting Bulma's own terrified ones. Though even though their gazes were locked, Bulma couldn't help but notice how Mark wasn't actuallylooking_ at_ her, but more like looking _through _her. "So," he asked softly, his lips barely moving, "how's the meal?"

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Laying prone on her bed Bulma lolled her head from side to side in self pity. _Why me? Why me? Why me?_

How was it that she got stuck living on Vegeta? Why couldn't it have been somebody else? No matter how selfish she sounded to herself, she didn't care anymore. She just didn't see how she'd been picked out of trillions of other humans to be a technological slave. Was she really that smart? Was she so smart, that the Saiyans couldn't live another damn day in their lives without her intelligence and inventions? Couldn't they have just left her on Earth and have had her build inventions there?

She could be home right now, staying with her parents and unmade friends, spending each night in her family's comforting arms, relishing the supportive and loving words which they would be whispering in her ear. Instead she came "home" every night to a rundown mattress and a flimsy night stand that might as well have been cardboard. And she'd earned these things, too. She had spent her whole life working her ass off, and this is what she'd earned, God dammit!

She stopped suddenly, feeling something wet under her chin. Slowly she looked down beneath her, witnessing a damp spot on her pillow. She'd been crying, and she hadn't even realized it.

She was a bit grateful when she heard a knock on her dorm door. Gathering up what little strength she had left, she willed herself to her feet and sluggishly made her way to the door.

It was the messenger boy again. He stood with the same lopsided grin on his face that said 'Hey! This is my life, and I'm happy to be living it!'. How could he be so happy? How could he be so content with life when everything around him was crashing to the ground? "For you, miss," he squealed with glee. Bulma then found herself experiencing Déja-vu as the kid held out another package. As if in a trance she took it into her weak and tired arms, not even saying thank you as she shut the door.

She set the box on the table, just like before, and took the time to ponder about what it could be. No doubt it was from her parents. Who else would send her anything? She wondered what kind of invention her father had thought of this time. It was sure to cheer her up a bit.

Languidly she unraveled the string and shed the tape; a bit more eagerly she delved into the pile of gift wrap, searching desperately for the gift, no matter how small it was. But instead she found a note:

_Dear Bulma,_

_How are you? I know it hasn't been long since my last letter, but I'm afraid there's been some bad news. Your father is very ill right now; he's been diagnosed with cancer. The doctors say he's in terrible condition, and that they could've done something if they'd known sooner, and that he probably won't make it past the next few weeks. I'm sorry for this news, and I'm sorry I couldn't brighten you up. I just felt you had a right to know. I have to go now._

_Love,_

_Mom_

Before she could prevent it, the devastating letter fell from Bulma's numb fingers. A wave of undescribable emotions washed over her: anger at having been stuck on Vegeta, shock that her strong, invincible father could be susceptible to such a disease, and sorrow for not being able to be there and do something.

She hadn't even seen him, only in his picture that was embedded in her locket. In an extremely fragile state, she whirled around and scrambled for her locket, a sob wrenching from her dry throat as she retrieved it from under her pillow. Her fingers trembled as she opened it, and she felt another cry escape her lips as she laid eyes upon her father's image. He looked so happy and strong and healthy, much too powerful to let something as small as cancer let him die.

_Look at me. I don't even know the man, and I'm crying over him. _But that was just it. She'd never known the man that she was supposed to have known from the day she'd been born. The man who was supposed to have been there when she lost her first tooth, or celebrated her first birthday, or when she had said her first sentence, even if it had been in Saiyan.

It wasn't fair. He couldn't die yet. Not until she could see and embrace him, tell him how much she loved him for sending her all his gifts and support.

_. . . probably won't make it past the next few weeks . . ._

Bulma paused abruptly during her sobs. That was it. He'd die in the next few weeks.

Then she'd made her decision. She'd make sure she'd see his face before he died.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

The doctor pursed his lips in concentration, peering down at the troubling x-ray. From what he could see, the patient had fractured his skull along with a few of his ribs; a Saiyan, too. _Must have been one hell of a fight. _Saiyans sure didn't break easily.

"Kett! Kett!" There was a fit of pounding on the door. "I need to talk to you! Now!"

He recognized that voice anywhere. Puzzled by her urgency, Kett walked over to type in the code.

As the door hissed open, Bulma nearly staggered forward in her hurry. Without sparing Kett so much as a glance she continued past him until she came to the examination table, where she braced her arms and hung her head in distress. Kett stood dumbfounded by her peculiar action. "What do you need, Sapphire?"

He'd called her that ever since she could remember. He'd told her that her eyes lit up like two sapphire jewels, sparkling whether she was angry, happy, or sad, sending either fear or joy to a stranger. She kept her eyes locked on the table's chromed surface, staring into her reflection's determined glare. "What do you know about hacking computers? It's not that I don't know how, I just don't think I have that much experience."

Kett was still bewildered by where she was going with this. "W-why?"

The reflection's glare seemed to harden now, as though encouraging Bulma to continue. "You're the only person I can really trust . . . I'm going to steal a space-pod."

"What!"

"I got a letter yesterday," she choked out, a subliminal image of her father appearing in her mind. "My father only has a few weeks to live. I have to see him."

Kett was too appalled to speak. He couldn't believe his tiny ears. This was treason she was talking about; there was no telling what the Saiyans would do if they were to find out. It almost made him shudder. "You can't. Do you how dangerous it is?"

In a rush of overwhelming emotion bulma whipped around, her eyes hard and firm, yet at the same time glistening with unwanted tears. "I have to Kett!" she bellowed angrily, absently grateful for the sound proof walls. "I've never even seen him! Never even heard his voice! If he were to die, I'd never forgive myself for being too much of a coward to try one time to see him: for the first and last time! I have to do this, Kett! I have to!"

As she yelled, Kett noted the rawness and rasp in her voice. _She must have been crying a lot last night._ Her eyes were still swollen and red-rimmed, and she had frightening bags under her eyes. He guessed he understood. After all, he'd never known his father either. He probably would have done the same thing.

He gave a sigh of both understanding and defeat. "Okay. You win." His eyes lowered in disappointment or sadness, Bulma couldn't tell which, as he glided forward to rest a comforting hand on her shoulder. He locked Bulma's gaze with his own. "Listen. You've been almost like a daughter to me, Sapphire, and I just don't want you to get hurt."

_A daughter_. Bulma grunted as she felt another fresh batch of tears coming. It was true. He had been almost like a father figure to her, supporting her and making her laugh when she was depressed; sneaking her candy whenever there had been an occasional slave examination; telling her history stories of the Saiyans when she felt she'd die of boredom. It was true, even if he wasn't her real father: he'd always been there for her, almost like a substitute.

"Now as far as the hacking goes," he gave a light-hearted laugh, "well, you're asking the wrong person for that. I'm a doctor, not a computer-whiz." She didn't know what it was, but seeing him laugh made her smile a bit, even if it was a weak.

"Now I have to go report some x-rays, so if you'll excuse me."

Bulma's smile faded when she felt the comforting warmth of his hand leave her shoulder. Leisurely he turned around and headed for the exit, stopping short in the doorway. He turned his head to tell her one last thing. "It's said," he began almost darkly, "that with every talent comes a flaw." He turned a bit more. "You're a woman of many talents, Bulma. I'm curious to know what your flaw is. I'm beginning to wonder whether that courage of yours will be your advantage . . . or your downfall. Well— good luck . . . Sapphire."

And with that said, he left without another glance, leaving Bulma in a daze as she replayed his words over and over in her mind.

A/N: PLEASE REVIEW! I need feedback.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

_**The Perfect Flaw**_

_**Chapter III**_

_Geldin 35, 451 a.d._

_Dear Diary,_

_I've made my decision. I'm going to make an escape from this mud-ball of a planet so that I can see my father for the first and last time. I'm not **exactly **sure what I'm going to do yet, but I know I have to act as soon as possible; probably tonight.._

_I've also decided not to tell Mark about my plan. There'd really be no point; it would only make things riskier for me._

_Well, I have to go now. I have to start packing food for my trip. Don't worry, I'll bring you along so I can keep recording events in my life._

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Bulma walked briskly down the hall, her steps heavy and fierce. She didn't have much time. If she wanted to escape before her father died, she would have to act as soon as possible. The problem was that she wasn't sure she would be able break their code. Each space- pod was guarded by the same exact password, for the prevention of attempted escape. Really, they weren't that stupid.

She just hoped her hacking skills wouldn't let her down during this scheme.

"Hey, Bulma."

Caught off guard Bulma turned to meet the sudden greeting. Mark stood before her, a look of shame written on his face as he stared down at his boots. "Look, I feel really bad about what happened the other day— and — I wanted to make it up to you."

A voice screamed in Bulma's mind, reminding her that she had to make her escape. She didn't have time to sit and chat about inventions and Earth with the guy that liked her. She was too busy trying to think of a way to _get _to Earth. Besides, Bulma wasn't sure she was ready to go back to the dining hall just yet. What if Nappa was there again? _Shit, what should I say?_

Bulma gave a groan of fake disappointment, rubbing a cool hand along the back of her neck. "Er— I don't know, Mark. I'm really— _busy_ right now and—,"

Mark brightened. "Oh, with your invention? Because I can help you with it. We could have dinner in my dorm and—,"

"No, Mark," Bulma confirmed, shaking her head and wringing her hands. "This is something I have to do alone." As he frowned again, Bulma grinned in hope that it would be contageous, just as it had when Kett laughed. "After all, you wouldn't want to hurt my ego, would you?"

Mark laughed at this. "Yeah, I understand," he assured sweetly, unaware of the relief that ran through Bulma's veins. "Well, then, I guess I'll see you tomorrow then, right?"

As he said this, he continued past her, making his way back to the Science Wing. Meanwhile, Bulma turned to watch him disappear down the hall, knowing in the pit of her stomach that it was probably the last time she'd ever see him again, whether she made it to Earth, or died trying.

"Yeah . . . see you tomorrow."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

It was time to work her magic.

Later that night, during after hours, she'd sneaked out from her dorm, a bag of food and supplies hidden in her coat pocket. She was wise and put her boots in there as well, knowing they'd be a risk of getting caught due to the noise they made. Stealthily she slid around walls and corners while her eyes adjusted to the darkness, making her way down the East Wing to where the control center for the space pods lay. All the while, her heart pounded rhythmically in her ears. She'd never done anything like this before; it was sort of exciting, despite the fact that if she were caught, she'd probably be tortured and slaughtered.

Once down the East Wing, she came to a long, dimly-lighted, stray hallway. From her position around the corner, she could make out the forms of a couple of Saiyan guards; a particularly large one securing the door to the control room. Now was the time to use it.

Carefully she reached into her chest pocket, withdrawing the small device her father had given her. She stared at it for a long moment, nearly smiling at the coincidence. It was almost as if her father had known that she'd try to escape, and decide to send her the invention in order to make it easier for her. What were the chances? She knew she probably wouldn't be able to do this without it.

She had decided to use it right then because of, once again, risks. If it were to feed off some fueling source, there was no telling when it could run out and die. Therefore it was safer to use it only if she absolutely needed it, and right now, she needed it.

Slowly she placed it on her leg where it stuck obediently. Then she placed her finger upon its button and watched as almost instantly, her form disappeared._ There we go! Now all I have to do is get to that room._

And luck seemed to be with her on this night as the smaller guard turned the far corner just then, vanishing from view. _Now!_ Cautiously she began her way to the larger guard, cursing silently when her bare feet stuck slightly to the cool floor with each step she took. She thanked God when she observed that the Saiyan had no scouter, probably never having suspected that a weak human could get past him. Hah!

She stopped a few feet from him, noting the way his eyes drooped occasionally, how he drummed his fingers against his chest armor in boredom. _He looks like he'd fall asleep any minute._ Even though Bulma knew she had no need to be stealthy while doing this, she hesitantly shot a quick glance to the aluminum door. She almost gulped at the thought of what she was about to do. As slow as honey, she extended her arm toward the door, sneaking her slender fingers behind his calves. She caught her breath when she almost grazed his skin.

Two clicks with her nails upon the aluminum surface was all it took for the guard to whirl around in a sudden frenzy, his eyes wide as he searched frantically for the noise. He studied the door for a long second, his brow furrowed in worry. "From inside?" he questioned in a low whisper. "How could anyone have gotten inside? Impossible."

Bulma couldn't help but smile. He was falling for it, just as she'd hoped.

Gulping, the guard reached to type in the code, oblivious to the invisible human who watched his every move. He pressed the numbers as Bulma took a mental note. _53281. I have to remember that._ As soon as he finished the door slid open and the guard ventured inside. Bulma followed him on her tiptoes, triumphant at the thought of being in the control room.

But there was one more thing to do with this idiot. Carefully she retrieved a pencil from her pocket while sneaking toward the doorway, praying this would work. She'd made it too far to get caught now.

She then reared back, taking a dramatic pause as she measured the distance, and chucked the pencil as far as she could down the hallway. She waited impatiently, unaware that she was nibbling her lower lip, when she heard the distant _click clack click_ as it made contact with the floor.

The guard gave a ferocious growl. "What now?" he asked the Gods, rushing out of the room in panic.

When she heard the door close, bulma allowed her shoulders to relax as she turn to face the colossal computer system. As she sat down in the chair, she absently wondered if they had computers as immense as this on Earth, or perhaps if they were more efficient than the Saiyans'.

_Well, I'll find out soon enough_.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"Commander Semuld, sir!" the guards cried near hysteria, coming to a halt before their superior. They bowed in deep respect.

A tall and powerful Saiyan, Semuld had been born into a noble blood-line. Since he was a child, he'd known that he'd grow into an elite Commander; he'd been a born leader. His long rumpled locks cascaded into the small of his back; his bangs falling away from his fierce and merciless eyes which put fear into any inferior that crossed his path."What?"

There was a small silence as both guards waited for the other to bare the news that would surely anger the Commander.Semuld tapped his foot with intimidation. "Well?"

"Uh—well—sir," the larger guard began shakily, shooting a distressed and pleading glance to his partner, "we believe someone is within the control center without permission."

Semuld's eyes narrowed to contemptuous slits. "And? Did you capture them?"

"Well that's just it, Sir," said the smaller Saiyan. "We can't even find them." He hesitated before continuing. "Drekkun said he heard someone in the control room."

At hearing this, the Commander gradually colored, regarding his men with a cold, impersonal glare. "What?"

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

She'd done it! She 'd finally broken the code! And surprisingly, their system hadn't been as complex as she'd imagined. It seemed that they focused a lot more on outer security than on the computer itself. With overwhelming jubilance she spun in the chair with childish glee, holding her hands tightly to her chest while biting down her triumphant laughter.

But her celebration didn't last long as her ears instinctively strained, catching what she feared most. Voices. They were faint, but sure as hell were there. Someone was coming.

A subconscious whimper escaped her lips as she reminded herself of a cornered rodent. She couldn't go through the door; they'd know she was in there. What was she going to do? Just then, she saw a flicker of white as her form came back into view, and she couldn't prevent the last of her breath being banished from her lungs.

She whipped her head around at the hiss of the door.

A/N: _PLEASE REVIEW!_ _They give me motivation!_


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: yah yah, same old, same old, blah blah blah.

_**The Perfect Flaw**_

_**Chapter IV**_

"How the hell could anyone have gotten into that room?" Semuld snapped, turning his head to scold his men that lagged behind him. He swore, sometimes he just wished he could run the control center by himself; these men they called Second Class were morons. Sometimes he felt he could do a better job without them.

They stopped before the main room's door, the guards' worry rising. What if there was someone in there? What that mean for them? They would be considered failures of their duty, and would most likely be banished by both their families and from Second Class. Death would be of less shame.

Their identical thoughts came to a sudden end as the aluminum door slid open, granting them access to an empty room. They sighed in relief, thankful for the fact that it may have been all in their imagination. And even though they would still be punished for putting the Commander through all this trouble, it sure beat getting stripped of their rank. Skeptically Semuld entwined his beefy fingers behind his back as he entered the seemingly empty room. Like a tiger, his eyes wandered the area, searching for anything that may have been suspicious, unaware of the invisible woman who had ducked beside the table.

What were the chances of someone as young as she having a heart attack? Bulma hoped they weren't high, because she sure felt as though she were about to have one.

That had been so close, it wasn't even funny.

She had a pretty good hunch that her invisibility device was about to die, considering how its power had just flickered a moment ago, leaving her visible for a split second. Frantically she'd repeatedly pressed the button, ecstatic when it finally complied. She then had dove from the chair and huddled impotently beside the table, feeling an inexplicable fear rush through her as the door slid open to reveal the exact person she'd been trying her best to avoid.

Commander Semuld.

Heartless and cruel; maybe even as cruel as the Prince himself. He cared for nothing except power, merciless even to his own flesh and blood. Rumor had it that his son, Private Airnu, had been serving under him and had failed a mission. His punishment: dying by the hands of his own father.

All she could make out were his gold-tip boots as they stalked into the room. As he stopped a few inches away from her, Bulma could feel her fear multiply tenfold, and she wondered if Semuld and the other Saiyans could perhaps hear her heartbeat that now beat with no control or comforting rhythm. It thumped hard against her ribs, as if trying to escape itself.

But she knew, no matter how much she wanted to deny it, she couldn't stay there all night. She had to make a move. Tentatively she climbed silently to her feet, relieved when the Commander continue to focus his attention elsewhere. It was the strangest feeling, being right there, just a few feet away from one of the strongest Saiyans alive besides Royalty, being just feet away from her death.

She chose the wrong time to take a step: she should have taken it sooner. Just then, Semuld turned in her direction. Bulma's eyes grew wide in fright and as though her feet were glued to the floor, she found she couldn't move. Instead she continued to live her nightmare, watching in dread as he walked slowly forward, extending a gloved hand toward her chest.

She found her strength abruptly at that moment, just before she could feel his fingers on her face, and swerved to the right, just narrowly missing his touch. She observed as he continued to reach out even though she wasn't there anymore, until he came to pile of papers that lay upon the table.

It was time to go. Now. The ship would be ready for her when she got there, coordinates and all, and she didn't want the risk of anybody discovering it was open, even if it was unlikely. Hurriedly yet carefully she absconded through door and down the hallway, assuring herself that she was almost there, and soon she'd be home free.

Meanwhile, back in the room, Semuld came upon a finding, something that caused his lips to form a tight line in displeasure. The pile of documents, the documents which he had organized so carefully and so perfectly, were mussed. One even lay on the floor. "Someone _was _here." His eyes narrowed. "And I'm going to find out who."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

_Almost there. Almost there! _

She sprinted now, elated as the row of spherical, white pods came into plain view. She was finally there, so close to escaping, so close to being free! She had one minute until launching: plenty of time.

She stopped beside the pod, once again hearing faint, angry voices from down the hall she'd come. Her attention was then drawn to the white flicker below her, which she immediately recognized. _Oh no— oh no— not now!_ There she was, her coat, her arms, her legs, all for planet Vegeta to see.

Not sparing another worried glance behind her, she nearly leaped for the pod door, unsatisfied with the speed at which it opened. "Come on, you piece of shit! Open for the love of God!" She found it useless to keep quiet any longer; they already knew she was there.

As she braced her arms on the slick outside of the pod and ducked into the small opening, she could make out running foot steps that echoed behind her. Instinctively she turned her head, gasping when she saw the three Saiyans turn the corner of the hall, including Commander Semuld. His eyes widened in shock. "Stop! Don't you dare get in that pod!"

Bulma felt near tears as she sprung into the ship, praying to whoever was out there that she was safe now, now that the door had shut.

"I said 'Stop', you bitch!" thundered Semuld as he skidded to a stop to extend his open palm. When he saw her face in that tiny window, staring back at him with a look of smug victory, that's when he lost it. Unscrupulously he rid of his rage, allowing it to escape through his hand in a myriad of consecutive beams. They hit it head on, leaving Semuld unsatisfied when they appeared to be of no effect to the impervious space-pod. Unfazed by his attacks, it then took off in the blink of an eye, vanishing into the depths of space.

"Sir, those pods are ki-proof!" Drekkun stated stupidly, oblivious to the blunder he'd just made.

"I know that, dammit!" came the defensive response as Semuld spun around, releasing another army of powerful blasts that hit Drekkin square in the chest. A fog of smoke formed around the attack, leaving the smaller guard shocked by the Commander's temper as he slowly backed away.

And when the smoke cleared, nothing but ash remained.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

She . . .couldn't believe it. She was free. She was really free.

Bulma now lay within the comfortable chair within the pod, savoring the feel of something else besides her rundown mattress beneath her back. She stared through the small window in front of her, taking in the vast blackness that enveloped her like a sea of night waters.

She'd really done it, hadn't she? She was really going to see her father; her Earth. Mark had told her of vast lands of green and luscious trees that soared to the sky and yellow sun. She'd always dreamed of seeing it; now her fantasy was going to come true.

"_Destination: Sector 7, Earth,_" the computer stated in monotone. "_Time of arrival: 23 hours and 14 minutes._"

Wow. Good thing she'd brought food and water with her. What the hell was she supposed to do for a whole day? What if she had to go to the bathroom?

A sudden, unnerving thought crossed her mind: would they follow her? Would they go through bunches of trouble, just to track _one _slave down? Why would they? What would be the point? They could live without the Great Bulma Brief's inventions, couldn't they? Were they that helpless without her?

She also couldn't help the pang of guilt in her stomach. She couldn't help but feel guilt for not telling Mark, leaving him to probably start worrying about her, the hope of them being together being crushed into dust. Also for every other slave on Vegeta. Why was she the only one that deserved to be free? While she was off to start a new life, they were still trapped on that planet, suffering every minute of every day. Even though Bulma knew there was nothing she could have done, she still felt this weight of guilt heavy on her tired shoulders.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"Sire."

Urgently Commander Semuld marched into the Throne Room, kneeling before his King upon the red carpet. He didn't find it fair that he had to take the blame for his men's actions; they were the ones who had failed their guard duty. He just hoped the King would forgive him. "There's— er— been an escape, your Majesty."

King Vegeta straightened in his throne, shooting the Commander a questioning glare as a silent command to continue. Meanwhile the Prince stood stiffly beside him, just having finished an interesting conversation with his father. The King had accused him of being spoiled, which had been very displeasing to young Vegeta's ears. He then had found he and his father wasting the following minutes bickering uselessly, when he could have been training. He was grateful for the Commander's interruption.

Semuld reluctantly continued. "One of the slaves— well— somehow she found out the password for the space-pods— and— er— escaped. She'd heading for Sector 7, Sire."

Prince Vegeta listened with mild interest. "Well why don't you just change the coordinates in the system to direct her back here?"

Semuld hesitated, wondering whether or not he should answer the question. "I can't," he said, his voice soft with shame. "She's hacked into the system and made it so I can't change the coordinates. It would take at least a couple of days before I could fix it."

The Prince broke the silence with a dry laugh. "The sly bitch!"

"What I'd like to know," the King began darkly, ignoring his son's remark, "is how she was able to make it past the guards in the first place?"

The Commander hesitated again. "I-I'm not sure."

King Vegeta then leaned back, rubbing his beard as he pondered the situation. "Well I think we can all agree that we've underestimated some of our slaves' abilities, now haven't we?"

"What do you propose we do, Sire?"

Another silence followed as the King sat in his pensive position, his eyes squinted in deep thought. Semuld waited patiently for his answer, just thankful that his Lord wasn't entirely angry with him. Abruptly he straightened once again, signaling his decision. "Bring her back here."

"S-sire?" The Commander hadn't expected this. He'd been expecting more of a "Set some stricter limits for those insolent slaves. Show them their place!" kind of suggestion. Instead he'd suggested this, much to Semuld's surprise.

Meanwhile Prince Vegeta shared in the Commander's shock, his brows knitting together in confusion. "Why bother, father?" he asked sharply, his tone making it obvious that he thought the older Saiyan had finally gone senile. "It's just _one _slave that escaped. It's not like there's a flock of them scheming ways to get past the system. Just let the desperate girl be. It'd be a wasted effort."

The King turned to his son with a cold glare. Sadly, Vegeta was too familiar with it to be fazed. "Oh, but there will be flocks, my boy," he explained venomously. "You see, if this _one _slave escaped— news does spread quickly, and next thing we know, a plethora of slaves will follow in her footsteps, wondering why they can't be free as well."

The Prince shrugged. "So? Just kill them."

"Ah, but if we do that," he continued, wagging his gloved finger wisely as though he were speaking to a child, "then we're going to have to kill a _lot _of slaves. And do you know how expensive some of them are, considering the fact we bought them from Frieza?"

In response, the Prince turned his head with a small "hmph!", a stalling until he could think of a good protest.

Feeling a bit out of place with the father-son quarrel, Commander Semuld cleared his throat, catching the King's attention instantly. "So, do you wish for me to send a ship to Sector 7, my Lord?"

King Vegeta did not answer right away. Instead, a wicked smirk formed his lips as he shot his son a sly-eye. "Oh, I don't think that will be necessary," he slurred deviously, his smirk broadening as the Prince's gaze snapped to him in suspicion. "My son will be going to fetch the slave."

Appalled, Vegeta's tail tightened around his waist subconsciously, his fists clenching at his sides. "What!"

"You know I think you're a spoiled brat. Do me a favor and leave for a while. Your whining is exhausting."

The Prince ground his teeth at the blatant insult, and in front of the Commander: how dare he! "Why you old fool—."

In the blink of an eye the King stood face to face with his offspring, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "I'm still King, whether you like it or not," he pressed through gritted teeth, his voice quiet and menacing. "And as long as I am King, you are the Prince and will follow your father's orders . . . understood?"

Vegeta knew he could have easily fought back with his father. He could have easily protested again and started a possible fight. But to save himself from further embarrassment, his jaws clenched as he struggled in accepting defeat.

The King smiled, recognizing his son's look of surrender. "Good," he commented softly before turning back to Semuld. "You're dismissed, Commander. Make sure to prepare two pods for the Prince."

Vegeta was bewildered anew. "Two pods?" he queried, a trace of dread in his words. He didn't know why he asked; he'd already had a feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"One for you, and one for Kitser."

He barely suppressed the growl. He despised Kitser, who followed him as if he were chained to his heel. No matter what the Prince did, he just couldn't rid of the midget-toad. He couldn't kill the little nuisance due to the fact that it had been a gift from Frieza. And to be perfectly honest, Vegeta had a hunch the lizard had done it just to annoy him, knowing that if he were to kill it, then it could mean serious consequences. "Why Kitser?"

"Do you know how hard it will be to track down that one slave, with her low ki! You'd never find her." His words were so supportive. "Bring him along. He's a scientist. He'll think of something that will help you to pick out her exact life force."

Vegeta ground his teeth; it was all he could do from attacking his father right there. So instead he assaulted the King with his disdain, his glower vowing to making his father pay.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Kitser grinned as he spotted his Lord, hopping toward him exultingly. "Why hello, M'Lord! What would you happen to be doing on a fine night like this?"

Vegeta rolled his eyes. It was so sweet in his mind. He could imagine himself blasting the toad into oblivion, never having to hear his screeching voice again. The day Kitser shut up, would be the day of the Apocalypse. He'd cut right to the point. "You're coming with me on a mission," he grumbled as the creature jumped to his side.

Kitser gasped with delight. "How wonderful, M'Lord! To where! To where!"

"Sector 7: Earth."

The servant gasped again, a smile forming on his pukish-green lips. "Oh, what a coincidence!" he exclaimed. "That's one of the planets that's said to be a host for the Dragon Balls!"

Vegeta's eyes widened at this. The Dragon Balls, if they existed, were on Earth? And they'd be right there for the taking? Surely they were guarded by someone though, right? If not, it'd be too easy to just take them, and make the wishes that he so longed for. To think, if he had immortality and power, he could rid of that arrogant lizard, Frieza, and his kin; meaning he'd also be able to rid of Kitser. He nearly smirked at the thought. "Really?"

How interesting indeed.

Very well, he'd go to Earth to fetch the fugitive . . .

But he'd make sure to find the Dragon Balls as well.

A/N: **_PLEASE REVIEW! _**Although I would like to thank those of you who **_are _**reviewing, for your support. Just keep'em coming, and I'll keep updating ASAP.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ . . . obviously.

_**The Perfect Flaw**_

_**Chapter V**_

_Even through their gloves, their fingers were like ice as they forced Bulma through the darkness._ _Even without her sight, she knew who was behind her: the King and Prince. Bulma yelled helplessly, kicking desperately at her captors to release her, knowing deep down that it was no use. After all, what was her power compared to these able-bodied demons?_

_She was forced onto a cold surface, an examination table of some sort. The sleek chrome was cool against her burning cheek . . . and her bare chest. Behind her came incoherent voices; conflicting among themselves. She knew they were talking about her, even if she couldn't hear exactly what they were saying._

_Bulma could feel hot tears stinging her eyes as the fear and frustration built up inside of her_, _increasing when she realized that her hands were tied behind her back. A sharp wire of some kind wound tightly around her wrists, cutting painfully into her flesh each time she struggled to escape them._

_It began shortly after that, the torture, when she felt the rough, sinful hands on her back. Both the Prince and King took her then, hurting her hurting her hurting her, over and over again._

_And her screams were left unheard in the vast darkness._

Bulma woke with a sudden jolt, her head swiveling in panic as she momentarily forgot where she was. When she realized she was safe, she sank back into the pod-chair, releasing an exasperated sigh.

It was just a dream. A scary, vivid dream.

It was fresh in her mind, too, her own screams resonant in her ears.

As she looked out the window, she wondered again what they would do to her if they caught her. If was different now, what they would have done before would be punishment for attempted escape. But now, she_ had _escaped, and the punishment was probably far worse than death itself.

"_Destination: Sector 7, Earth; Arrival Time: 7 hours and 6 minutes._"

Wow, had she been sleeping that long? That whole escaping thing must worn her out. Then again, she had spent the first three hours of the trip gorging on what little bread, crackers, and water she had, and had spent some time writing in her diary. She had a dull hope, that someday, her diary would be read by other slaves and that they'd consider it their bible. She hoped they would follow in her footsteps, reading about the way she escaped, understanding that they had the power of escaping as well.

Time would only tell, and with each passing minute, she was nearing ever so closer to her new home.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"Are the pods ready?"

Commander Semuld bowed deeply. "Yes, Prince Vegeta."

Vegeta regarded Semuld with a curt nod, signaling him the right to straighten. His bad mood from the previous night had lightened slightly, after hearing of the Dragon Balls. Though he wouldn't admit it, he was actually kind of excited now. Maybe he'd even get to have a little fun with the inhabitants. He smirked suddenly._ Perhaps this won't be so boring after all._

He was actually sort of impressed as well, with the slave girl's bold, yet foolish action. She had either had some admirable skills, or just some damn good luck. Either way, it was a mystery to him how the hell she had made it past two Second Class guards, and one of most powerful Commanders on the planet.

Finding her would be one of his top priorities. They'd described her pretty well he supposed; she supposedly had thin, blue hair that fell to her shoulders, she was fairly short in height, and had bright sapphire eyes. She wouldn't be too hard to find, right? That is, unless every other inhabitant were to have blue hair and blue eyes, too, and he sure hoped that wasn't the case. They were also currently attempting to figure out the fugitive's name, asking fellow slaves of their knowledge of the bold scientist, and they planned to report it to him as soon as possible.

Absentmindedly Vegeta climbed into the pod, watching just before the hatchet shut as Kitser climbed into the one beside him, shooting the Prince a quick, disgusting grin. The Saiyan relaxed as he let himself adjust to the cool, calm darkness of the space-pod, hearkening to the sound of the computer in front of him.

"_Launching in 5 seconds: 5 . . .4 . . .3 . . .2 . . ._

The last number was drowned out by the abrupt rush of speed as it launched into space, the pressure like forceful hands pushing the Prince back into the seat.

It was going to be a long trip.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Bulma hadn't been in the Science Wing that day.

Mark wondered with mild concern if perhaps she was ill. _But she looked fine yesterday_.

Wanting to make sure she was okay, after work hours ended, Mark made his way down to Bulma's dorm, stopping before her door. Here he was— Bulma's room. Mark had a crush on the blue-haired scientist since the first day he'd been there, secretly wishing he could be brave enough to confront her and tell her how he felt. He knew it was near impossible to form a strong relationship on a planet such as Vegeta, but he hadn't cared; he'd wanted to live the rest of his enslaved life with her. He'd been baffled by her beauty.

And now things were finally starting to look up for him, too, save for the interesting dinner date they had a few nights ago. He felt confident that she had feelings for him, too; the way she'd blush when ever he'd complimented or greeted her in the hallway.

Suddenly nervous, Mark cleared his throat as he knocked on the door. "Uh— hello? Bulma? It's me: Mark."

No answer.

"Are you there?"

Still, nothing.

Mark leaned back in surprise. She must have been extremely ill for her not to answer, not even in a hoarse whisper. Come to think of it, Bulma was seldom sick; she'd said so once when an exotic flu had been spreading among slave quarters. A flu he had caught by the way. He shuddered from the sudden flashback: a great deal of excessive vomiting which left the victim crippled to the point they couldn't even lift a finger. But alas, Bulma had been one of the only ones who hadn't caught it. And nothing that he knew of was going around presently.

What if something bad had happened? Had she gotten hurt in some way? Like a broken bone or something?

Again Mark knocked on the door, a bit more urgently. "Bulma! Bulma, are you hurt!" Still no acknowledgment. Before he realized it, Mark's taps turned to pounds upon the metal surface. "That's it, I'm coming in, whether you like it or not!"

As the door slid open, he rushed in to be greeted by an empty room. Breathing heavily he scanned the dorm, noting with potential fear how the night stand had been knocked deliberately over and the bed sheets hung off the edge of the mattress, creating a pool of navy blue upon the floor.

"What the hell happened?" He wondered aloud, his heart thumping against his chest when the worst came to mind. Stubbornly he pushing the theory of death away. No— no—. She wasn't— couldn't be dead. They would have cleared her dorm out by now; would have already filled it with the necessities for the next slave that would be moving in.

Rapidly his thoughts slurred together in panic. Taking deep breaths, he told himself to calm down and do what he was on that planet to do: think. Think God dammit. _Now, her room wasn't cleared out so she's not dead— she didn't show up for work today— so that must mean—_

She was in the Health Wing, with Dr. Kett. _Or that Nappa guy got her. _No— no! He wouldn't believe the second one. For now he'd just worry about her being in the Health Wing; he didn't think he could take imagining her limp body on that Saiyan's bed. Hurriedly he exited the room and sprinted down the hall toward the Health Wing. She must have injured herself somehow and had gone to get treatment, unaware of how frantic she'd cause Mark to become.

When Mark buffeted upon the door, Dr. Kett granted him access, regarding him with arched brows as he leaned over to catch his breath. "Where's— Bulma? I can't— find her— anywhere," he wheezed, having initially intended to sound intimidating, but failing miserably.

The doctor's brows furrowed and his frown deepened. "She didn't tell you," he said gravely, his eyes losing their usual brightness.

Mark stopped breathing. "Tell me what?"

Stealthily his eyes shifted from side to side, as if to see if anyone were eavesdropping. He then leaned close to Mark, staring him straight in the eye. "Bulma made an escape."

Mark nearly choked on his own saliva. "What!" he croaked loudly, drawing back with shock evident on his face.

"Shh!" Kett looked around again. "Keep your voice down! There's an Emergency Wing connected directly to the room. The walls maybe sound proof, but the doors aren't!"

"I will not keep my voice down!" Mark bellowed angrily, shaking Kett vigorously by the shoulders. "I know you're lying! What have you done to Bulma! Where are you keeping her!"

Dizzily Kett took hold of the hysteric human, holding him tightly by the arms as he bared his teeth. "I'm not lying!" he growled in a low whisper. "She made an escape! She came to me a few days ago telling me she was going to hack into their system to steal a space-pod! I didn't think she'd actually go through with it but I guess she already has seeing as you can't seem to find her anywhere, can you!"

Mark stood completely still, stunned as he observed the doctor's face turn a shade of red from lack of inhale between his sentences.

"So—,"

Startled Kett and Mark whipped around, both feeling their life-spans shorten ten years as they laid their mortified eyes upon Commander Semuld. He stood leisurely in the doorway connecting the Emergency Wing to the Health Wing, his lips pursed in disgust and rage. "You knew."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

This was not how she imagined the landing.

As the computer had announced their arrival, Bulma found herself imagining wheels or something to make their contact smooth. She was appalled when instead, she found herself in the midst of a powerful quake. Mercilessly she was thrust back into the chair as the pod collided roughly with the Earth's surface. With difficulty she peered out the window, witnessing brown rock spewing up from under the small ship, blocking her view.

When it was over, she held her head steady to cease the spinning.

"_Destination: Complete; Arrival Time: 0 hours and 0 minutes._"

Shakily she climbed out, squinting through her blurry vision, desperate to see her home. As the dust cleared, she couldn't help but feel a bit discouraged at the sight of the crater the pod had produced. But she knew, and determined she told herself that above the crater would be heaven, the heaven she had longed for her entire her life.

And when she climbed and stumbled her way over that crater, she emitted an involuntary laugh as she laid her eyes upon exactly what Mark had told her: fields. Vast, green fields that stretched for miles until they collided with something else that made Bulma's jaw drop.

She could see clusters of cluttered skyscrapers that soared high into the blue sky. The _blue _sky. The sky was _blue_! With fluffy, _white _clouds! And _one_, _yellow _sun that shone as bright as a light bulb, casting its encouraging, optimistic glow upon the enormous city.

Carefree she rolled her head back as laughter tumbled out of her uncontrollably. "I'm here," she whispered softly, her vision blurring with elated tears. "I'm really here."

She couldn't believe it. She'd actually survived. She was now free to see and go and do whatever she felt like doing. She'd freed herself from the shackles of slavery that she'd lived with her entire life. She'd made it.

Home sweet home.

A/N: **_PLEASE REVIEW!_** Sorry folks, I had a small case of writer's block with this chap. Oh well, life goes on!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

_**The Perfect Flaw**_

_**Chapter VI**_

Cautiously Bulma made her way along the busy street, barely able to contain her excitement. Her hungry eyes fed off the automobiles that sped by in a rapid blur; off the crowds of Earthlings that jostled her as they passed her in a hurry; off the slick, white buildings that towered over her like a Saiyan in transformed state.

She had to locate her parents. Her father was in charge of Capsule Corp; that much she was aware****of. But they had never informed her of the address in any of their letters. _Well why would they have? It's not like they were **expecting **me to escape._

But she was confident she'd find them. She was Bulma Briefs after all.

She supposed she could find a library first; they were bound to have computers, right? Being pushed suddenly by a woman in a business suit, Bulma reeled on the fellow human, grabbing her roughly by the shoulder. The woman turned, startled by Bulma action. It was then that Bulma noticed the small phonetic****device embedded in the woman's ear. "Um—e-excuse me?" Bulma asked politely, raising her voice over the crowd. "Could you direct me to the nearest library?"

The woman mouthed something, pointing repeatedly to the contraption in her ear as if Bulma couldn't see it. She then shook her self from her grip, turning to continue on her way. Bulma stomped her foot on the asphalt in frustration. No one was paying attention to her!

"Hey!" came a masculine voice. "You lookin' fer the library?"

Quickly Bulma spun to search out the accented voice, finding a stout, rundown looking man leaning against a building wall. Not wanting to lose him she forced her way through the crowd, ignoring the indignant glares.

"If ya wanna get to the library," he said loudly, tilting his head in the correct direction, "then it'll be a couple of blocks down that away."

Bulma's lips broke out in a grateful smile. "Thank you! Thank you!"

A sudden thought crossed her mind: why go through all the trouble? Maybe this guy knew where Capsule Corp was, too. It was supposed to be famous after all. "Hey, would you happen to know where Capsule Corp is?"

He was taken aback by the question, either because he wondered why she'd need to go there, or was surprised she didn't know its location. "Uh— yeah. Er— that's a little farther. It's gonna be a couple blocks from the library****which is a couple blocks from here."

It was Bulma's turn to be surprised. Wow, what were the odds of her having landing in the exact city that held the world-known Capsule Corp? It was almost eerie.

"I dunno what the street name is exactly," the man continued, scratching his neck fiercely. "But uh— you can't really _miss _it."

He gave a dry laugh. "I mean, it says 'Capsule Corp' in plain sight on it. Only a blind man would walk right past it."

Bulma forced a fake laugh before shaking the man's hand. She noted absently how filthy his palm felt against her own. "Well— uh— thank you very much for your help. You really have no idea how much it means to me. I wish there was something I could give you in return."

At this, a sly smile formed on the man's face, revealing a row of tinted, crooked teeth. "Well then," he began, pulling Bulma closer to his grime, "how 'bout havin' dinner with a poor man like me?" His free hand settled on her bottom.

Her eyes grew wide as she took in what he'd just suggested, before narrowing again with disdain. No words were needed as her hand flew quick and hard across the lecher's face.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"_Destination: Sector 7, Earth; Arrival Time: 13 hours and 32 minutes._"

It was turning out to be a long trip for the bored Prince. He'd sat sullenly in the ship's chair for the last hour, drumming his fingers to a tuneless, rhythm less song.

He was particularly impatient on this trip as his mind continued to fantasize about finding the Dragon Balls; obtaining ultimate and limitless power. He just hoped he'd be able to detect them with his scouter. If not, he'd have to have Kitser whip something up to track them down. But he'd think that with their amazing power, the scouter would be able to pick them up, right?

They had to be real. He had that gut feeling that churned and twisted in his stomach. Why else would Frieze have sent his men to search for them, and to report their findings? Well he'd make sure he got to them before that putrid lizard did; if Frieza were to wish upon them, no telling what he'd do to the Saiyan Empire that nearly stretched across half the universe.

But along with these thoughts, Vegeta couldn't help but let his mind drift to life in general as well. Before he could prevent it, he found himself thinking back to his childhood. He'd spent every day as a child training until his body would no longer move, wanting nothing more than to be as good a King as his father when the time came. He'd wanted so badly to make him proud, to have him look down on him with pride. But somewhere along the line, it had changed. Vegeta had decided to take his own route, to stop trying so hard to please his father whom he'd found out wasn't such a great King after all.

He remembered it as though it'd happened yesterday. He remembered seeing his father kneel before Frieza, saying something he couldn't hear. He hadn't been able to stand it, seeing his father, the King of Saiyans, bow to such an ugly, despicable creature. Frieza had tensed suddenly, leaving his throne to tower over his father's kneeling form. Vegeta had watched with wide eyes as Frieza then sent a powerful blow to the King's stomach, and his father not doing anything in return, not even as defense! He hadn't been able to accept it, the fact that his own flesh and blood, the one who he had believed to be the strongest and bravest of all Saiyans, was letting himself be degraded by such a dishonorable tyrant; the same creature that was now buying their slaves just to store in his own personal Harem! He and his father came from the strongest bloodline, he'd told him. They, and only_ they_, were supposed to be the mightiest in the universe, not backing down from any challenge, not taking crap from anybody, no matter who they were.

Hah! And then there had been the dilemma in which the King had tried to talk Vegeta into finding a mate. This had been when he'd been just a boy too: around 1 moon ago. He'd been lectured repeatedly on how important it was to find a mate in order for there to be an heir when the time came. Vegeta had assured his father he'd find one when he was ready; this of course angering him. And to make things worse, he'd been young, and foolish. It had been the time when his hormones were raging. One afternoon King Vegeta had found out his son had been fooling around with a servant girl. The following conflict hadn't been pretty.

But now he was growing older; Vegeta had put off finding his mate and knew that he'd soon have to choose, whether he liked it or not. It was for the good of the Empire. The problem was, with his keen perception, he knew that having a spouse weakened one's mind and emotions.

And like a true warrior, he'd already successfully hardened his heart and did not want to risk it softening.

However, if he were to find the Dragon Balls and wish for immortality, then he would have no need for a mate, now would he?

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

As Mrs. Briefs entered the bedroom, she stared down at her husband with deep sympathy, leaning down to make sure he could see her."How are you doing, sweetie? Do you need anything?"

He turned to her with slight difficulty, smacking his cracked lips together. "Actually, Bunny, could I have some water? Please, Dear?"

As if he needed to add the "please". He knew perfectly well that no matter what he asked of her, she'd act as quickly as possible, doing anything her soul-mate wished while in his state of pain. "Right away, honey," she said, turning to exit the room and make her way downstairs to the kitchen.

A knock on the front door caught Mrs. Brief's immediate attention as she strode through the living room. She stopped momentarily on her journey to fetch a glass of water, taking a detour to answer the door. As she opened it, she was met by a jubilant young woman with thin blue hair and bright blue eyes as blue as the sky. She blinked a few times, perplexed by who this stranger could be. "Are you a reporter?" she queried, her tone menacing. "Because we don't want reporters here. My husband is very ill: that's what you can write on the front page. Just let him be."

Bulma wrung her hands innocently, giving her head a vigorous shake. "Oh, no no no!" Bulma exclaimed. "I'm not a reporter!" She paused after that, as if waiting for her mother to finish what she was about to say. Instead she received the same, steady glare. "It's me! Your daughter: Bulma!"

As the words left her lips, Bunny drew back in disbelief. No . . . she was lying. She had to be lying. This was just some trick to get in and greedily jot down notes on her husband's poor condition. Her daughter was on a faraway planet, trapped there for the rest of her life.

Why wasn't she embracing her? Bulma didn't understand. She'd expected tears of joy and suffocating hugs. Silence. Did she not believe her? "It's really me; really Bulma!" she was near yelling now, her frustration building up in her chest. She needed proof. "I— y-you— not too long ago y-you sent me a makeup kit and an invisibility device! And not too long ago I was on Planet Vegeta! It's me: Bulma!"

That was all it took. In the blink of an eye Bulma found her mother's cream-colored arms wrapped tightly around her neck, banishing the air from her lungs. But she smiled nevertheless, happy to finally know the feel of a mother's embrace.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"Honey! I have a surprise for you!" Bunny proclaimed in giggles, entering the dark and gloomy room. She hid Bulma behind her.

Without acknowledging his wife with a familiar glance, Dr. Briefs spoke softly from his helpless position on the bed. "Is it the water?"

Bulma bit her lip to control her excitement at hearing her father's voice.

Switching on the light, Mrs. Briefs brought a hand to her mouth in shame. "Oops!" she giggled lightly. "I sort of forgot about the water."

There was a zombie-like groan in response.

"Oh, but it's much better!" she assured, walking into the room while clutching Bulma's hand behind her. She couldn't wait to see the look on her husband's face; it seemed like so long since she'd seen him smile, it almost got her down as well. But there was no doubt he'd be ecstatic when he saw his one and only daughter, the person they'd both been dreaming of seeing their entire lives; maybe he'd even jump out of bed.

He turned his head sideways onto the pillow, regarding his wife with tired, glazed eyes. "What?"

His new position granted Bulma access to his face. His _real_ face, not the imposter's in her locket. She peered over her mother's shoulder, studying the numerous, smile wrinkles on his smooth face; the way his gray mustache veiled his upper lip; the dark circles under his eyes.

He must have seen her.

His bushy brows furrowed suddenly in puzzlement as he spotted the stranger behind Bunny. "W-who is that?"

All was silent as Bunny stepped aside, allowing Bulma to move forward to the edge of the bed. He stared at her with his weary yet gentle eyes, struggling his best to recognize her. Bulma smiled weakly, the thought of seeing her father in such a poor condition tearing her apart. "Hi."

He remained silent.

She pressed on. "Do you know who I am?" Nothing. "It's me: Bulma."

His eyes widened as he took a sudden, sharp intake of breath. "B-bulma?"

She couldn't take it anymore. She had fought it all the way up to this point, and it was catching up with her. Slowly, two tears glided gracefully down her cheek as the lump in her throat grew. "I came to see you, Daddy," she strained in a soft whisper, not needing permission as she leaned down to wrap her arms loosely around his neck. She was really here; it wasn't a dream. She was in a room, with _both _her parents, even if it would soon be one. But that didn't matter; the important thing was that she'd made it there and had accomplished her goal: she'd seen and embraced her father for the first time.

"And don't worry. I'm here to stay."

**A/N:** Okay, people, a bit of bad karma: I probably won't be able to update till sometime next week. My gramma's really sick, and my family doesn't think she's going to make it much longer, so my mom and I are leaving Thursday to go see her for probably the last time. But don't worry, I'll take the laptop w/ me so I can work on the next chap. Thanx.

Anywho, **_PLEASE REVIEW!_**


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

A/N: Hey! Thanx for understanding. And sorry for the wait; I've had a lot of exams this week. (Can't wait till summer! I'm gonna write non-stop!) Anyway, let's get back on track here.

_**The Perfect Flaw**_

_**Chapter VII**_

"How did you escape, honey?" Bunny asked curiously, coming in from the kitchen to offer a plate of cookies. She shook her head in dread. "I'm sure they weren't happy."

Bulma couldn't help but laugh as she thought back to her escape. "Yeah, you could say that."

Delicately she retrieved a cookie from off the plate, examining it carefully with one eye. So this was a cookie, huh? Mark had told her about them; he'd said that depending on who made them, they were small delicious morsels that caused a lot of Earth obesity because they were so irresistible. Slowly she sank her teeth, noting as she was met with a warm, soft, sweet taste that washed over her taste buds. She shivered with pure bliss. To add to her pleasure, in the background she could make out the dull sound of the television. Here she was, witnessing the contraption for the first time.

Bulma turned to glance to her father, hoping to find him with a heartwarming smile and a cookie in his hand. To her disappointment she instead saw as he slouched weakly in his chair, his head blocked from view as it leaned over the back. He pushed himself, willed all the strength he'd had, just to come downstairs and sit with his daughter. Though happy and touched, Bulma found herself constantly checking him with a worried glimpse, something gnawing in the back of her mind; he was obviously in pain. "Dad, are you sure you shouldn't be in bed?"

With difficulty Dr. Briefs lifted his head, a stubborn look on his face. "Of course not!" came the defensive response. "I'm perfectly fine!" His glare transformed suddenly, changing from one of defense to one of confusion. "What is that?"

Bulma blinked incredulously. "Dad, it's a cookie!" She'd think he'd know what a cookie was, or maybe the illness was making him disoriented.

"Not _that_," he said. "_That_."

Bulma let her eyes follow his directed finger, stopping upon the t.v.. A man in a brown clad suit and tie stared back at her with a look of distress, talking furiously into his microphone. _"What we have here may alarm many of you watching," _he roared over the raging wind, stepping abruptly to the side. Gradually the camera zoomed in, focusing clearly on a small, spherical pod which lay within a landing crater: _her_ small, spherical pod. Bulma subconsciously winced at her careless blunder. _Oops. _

The reporter continued quickly, fear evident in his voice. _"Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen. You may recognize this pod as the exact same used by the Saiyans. What could this mean? For those of you that know of what I speak, are they back to wreak havoc again? And just how long can we keep 'The Vow of Silence'? Should the younger generation have a right to know?"_

"Oh my!" Bunny exclaimed, a dainty hand flying to her mouth to stifle the gasp.

"They followed you here!" Br. Briefs said in sudden alarm as he studied the slick, white pod. Boldly he sprung forward in his chair.

Meanwhile, Bulma wrung her hands with wroughtShe was desperate not to spoil this comfortable family time"No! No! You don't understand!" she cried innocently. "That's _my _ship. That's the one I came in!"

Her parents had turned to her now, their stares blank, as if trying to comprehend what Bulma had just informed them. Her thin brows knitted delicately together in sudden defense, her mouth forming a tight frown. "Well, what was I supposed to do?" she asked angrily, "Carry it?"

Bunny's sudden giggle earned another glare from the blue-haired girl. "Seems like someone's inherited their father's temper!" The tease was meant to be light hearted, but only resulted with a small "hmph!" as a response. "To think, here I am seeing you for the first time, and already you remind me so much of you father!"

Pushing the remark aside, Bulma paused to replay the reporter's words within her mind. What had he meant when he'd said "Vow of Silence"? Her eyes gleamed with a scientist's curiosity, and she was unaware that her anger was already simmering back to its initial state: a dormant volcano. She turned to Mrs. Briefs. "What's the 'Vow of Silence'?"

Her mother blinked as she absorbed the question. "Well . . ." she began, a grim smile gracing her lips. "After the attack and the Saiyans left, more than two decades ago already, many felt it was an opportunity to 'start over'. They felt it better not to let the younger generation know— I'm not sure why— I suppose because they didn't want their children and grandchildren to live in fear, awaiting the day that the Saiyans would come back.

"I'm not sure I agree with this though," she continued, stating her tenet a bit timidly. "Many feel that it was the slaves the Saiyans wanted— and I guess this is a possibility. I mean— even if they did leave some bad scars, it seemed almost as though they were _avoiding _doing too much damage; and they left as soon as they gathered a sufficient number of slaves." Bunny looked toward the ceiling in absent relief. "Thank goodness they agreed on informing those going into the military, though. Secretly they prepare their soldiers in case of such a threat. But overall, worries've died down by this day; it's been more than twenty years after all!"

Bulma stared blankly at her mother for another moment, before her thin brows drew together in an undescribable anger. She could fell the volcano bubbling once again.

So . . . no one knew? No one younger than her knew of the suffering she'd gone through, of the suffering so many of their own species had experienced— no— _were _experiencing at that very moment? Didn't they know that every human on Vegeta was secretly praying in their heart that somewhere on their Home Planet, people were giving them their best of luck and support? How heartbroken--- how many spirits would be shattered if they knew the truth: that nearly everyone at home had_ forgotten _them?

Bulma wasn't sure exactly why she was so angry; she just hadn't expected this.

"So you're trying to tell me that _no one _knows about what happened!"

"Well, not _everybody _follows the vow of silence." Her mother blurted the reassurance quickly in an attempt to cool down Bulma's hot temper. "I mean, many believe they have a right to know."

Bulma stomped her foot. "They do! They should!"

Bulma's eyes began to burn with rage, and she stubbornly blinked away angry tears. She couldn't believe it. Her entire life while being on Vegeta, she envisioned her planet waiting for her, wishing for her to come back. But how could they do so when they didn't even know she existed? "Does the world even know who I am?"

Bunny contemplated for a moment, tapping her chin while she pondered. "Of course the older generation does!" She held the empty cookie plate to her chest in nostalgia. "It's was everywhere in the news when Capsule Corp had birthed its heiress!"

_Heiress. _She was the heiress, wasn't she. She hadn't really taken the time to think about it. All of it— all of her family's fortune would be hers; she'd be the Queen she'd always wanted to be.

But there were people that knew who she was? What had happened to her?

Her mother's eyes glimmered suddenly, as though she were reliving the horror and tragedy. "People were shocked after learning of the capture of Bulma Briefs!"

Bulma turned her head away, her gaze falling upon the slender, white hands that lay folded in her lap. She was elated to hear this, that many in that case did know of her identity. It gave her but a shred of hope.

"Oh!"

Jolted from her thoughts, Bulma jerked to the sudden gasp, witnessing as Bunny waved her hands in melodramatic enthusiasm. "Before I forget! I have a surprise for you!"

Bulma merely blinked. A gift? A _gift!_ Oh she loved that word! In girlish ecstasy she clasped her hands together, and as simple as that her anger and glum diminished. "Really!"

"Yep! Come on, follow me, Dear!"

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Their home was humongous. Bulma felt as if she were being led to a dungeon chamber of something. She followed her mother almost hesitantly, winding down so many hallways, she'd lost count somewhere around 25. She'd always wanted to be rich, always wanted to collapse on to a bed of fine satin, being consumed by the numerous pillows that would surround her; but this was almost too much.

She couldn't wait to go to sleep tonight.

Engrossed in her thoughts, bulma rammed into her mother's backside, unaware that they'd finally reached their destination: the garage.

Bunny turned to flash her daughter a bright smile, as if expecting something of her. Curiously Bulma gently shoved her mother aside, her mouth agape as she eyed the gift almost hungrily. A motorbike. A beautiful motorbike. The blue haired scientist found herself at a loss for words.

"You like it?"

"For me?"

Bunny answered with a tilt of her head. "All yours. I used it a lot when I was younger. But as much as I hate to admit it," she paused, abashed. "I'm afraid I'm getting too old."

Bulma didn't know what else to say. Dazed she staggered to the bike, leaning close to examine its radiant beauty, running her fingers along the smooth surface. And it was all hers. She could see herself speeding across the vast fields at which she'd been earlier, spreading her arms wide to let the wind caress her skin. All hers.

"I'm sure you'd like to take it for a ride through the city, right?"

Bulma's smile broadened with glee. "Hell, yeah!"

Before she could prevent it, the vile word had already left her lips, and in front of her mother, too: shameful. Bulma waited patiently for Mrs. Briefs to lecture her in some way, to wag her finger and "tsk" with parental disappointment. Instead she merely giggled again. "Well you run along now, then! I'll have dinner ready when you get back!"

Bulma barraged her mother with a myriad of kisses and thank yous, not sure how else to show her gratefulness for the delightful gift.

But as she mounted the majestic vehicle, her eyes widened in dreaded realization. She didn't have a damned clue how to work this thing! She gripped the handles and stared down with a look of mortification, losing count of the clusters of buttons before her. It was a motorbike for Heaven's sake! What the hell did she need all these buttons for?

Bulma bit her lip to stifle the frustrated groan. And though her adventurous conscious voted against it, she reluctantly came to her moral conclusion. Slowly— and almost painfully— she forced herself off the bike, turning to meet a bewildered Mrs. Briefs. "I should probably wait until I learn how to use it," she pouted, mumbling the words so Bunny had to strain to catch them. "Besides, I'd probably get to see more anyway if I walked."

Bunny merely nodded in silent agreement, her smile praising her daughter's mature decision.

And like that, Bulma left the house to face a whole new world, to quench her thirst for knowledge of the new and outlandish culture of the Earthlings that she wondered about her entire life.

Sure, she loved it when Mark would tell her stories . . .

But it was always better to be _in _the story.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"What do you mean they're not on sale! I came all the way over here to buy these because your stupid ad said they'd be on sale!"

The salesclerk trembled at the woman's rage, a single bead of sweat forming on his forehead and sliding down the bridge of his nose. The woman continued to thrust the white, trendy boots in his face, her cheeks hot with anger. "L-look, Ma'am," he stammered, "I'm really not in charge of that kinda thing. And b-besides, that ad that was sent out was for a sale that was weeks ago."

With this the clerk hoped to shoo the whacko away, only to find she was far from surrender. With a small "hmph!" she tossed her dark black locks in defiance, planting her feet in that position. "Well it's not my fault that the ad makers didn't print the dates large enough; I sure didn't see'em."

He couldn't take this anymore; there was no getting through to this woman. Next thing he'd know, she'd be launching him out the window. She sure seemed strong enough. "Listen, lady," he whispered through clenched teeth, leaning close so no one else could hear. "I don't want any trouble." The woman shifted a stubborn eye in his direction. "I'll . . .I'll let you pay for the blouse at sale's price, as long as you promise not to tell anyone."

The man jerked back as she suddenly reeled on him, her icy glare and frown transforming into a charming smile. _My God, she's a demon. _"Why thank you, Good Sir," she complimented sweetly, handing forward the attire and waiting for him to finishing ringing up the price. "How generous of you. My husband will be very happy when sees me in these new boots."

The man all but shoved the bag into her arms, wanting her out of the shop as soon possible before he found himself with a broken leg. "A-anytime."

She flashed one last grin before turning and making her way through the exit. As she stepped out into the main center of the mall she brought a balled fist to her side in rejoice. _You still got it, Chichi! _

When she'd seen those boots, she felt she'd die without them, their white fur luscious and soft, beckoning to her in silent plea. The intimidation had been a piece of cake; she guessed it was and an advantage sometimes, being the daughter of the powerful Ox-King.

She now strode through the crowd with overwhelming pride, swinging her bag boastfully at her side.

The rest happened so quickly, there was no time to brace herself by what came next. In the blink of an eye she could feel as her feet gave away beneath her, sending her careening backwards to the hard tile. But she found that the hard, painful contact with ground never came. Perplexed she opened her eyes, charcoal black meeting cool blue. This woman had caught her; had _saved _herfrom a possibly fatal injury to the head.

Frantically she leaped out of the stranger's arms and twirled around in one graceful movement, regarding her with wide, grateful eyes.

"Oh my God!" she gasped in shock, struggling to take in what had just happened. "I— I could have bashed my head if it weren't for you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

The woman smiled almost absentmindedly, evidently a bit dazed by what had happened as well. "Your welcome. You know, they should really put up signs or something to let people know the floors are slippery."

Chichi's heart still pounding, she returned the woman's considerate smile. "Actually, they do," she explained. "The crowds are just too big to see'em." She felt disrespectful in a way as she continued to converse with the stranger who had saved her from the devastating fall; she felt indebted to her somehow. How could words possibly portray how thankful she was?

It suddenly hit her.

"Hey! Why don't you come over and I'll happily serve you dinner?" Chichi suggested hopefully, confident that this would show off her hospitality.

The woman rubbed the back of her neck with uncertainty. "I-I don't know, my parents—,"

But Chichi was persistent. "Oh, come on! It's the least I can do to thank you for saving me." She held out a friendly hand. "What's your name? I'm Chichi."

Bulma happily accepted the generous gesture. "I'm Bulma."

"Bulma." Chichi repeated the name with admiration. "So whadaya say, Bulma?"

Well if she insisted. After all, what harm could it possibly do? It felt nice to make a new friend; one that didn't have to serve under the Saiyans. She'd just call her mom and tell her she was joining a friend for dinner. Surely her mother would understand.

"Okay. Sounds nice."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Unlike her parents' home, Chichi's was _much _smaller. It was also secluded near a rich green forest which Bulma found surprisingly peaceful. In the Saiyan forests she'd been in, one would constantly hear the groaning and wailing of Ktaln, the immense, carnivorous animals that hid deep within the woods. Come to think of it, just about everything on Vegeta was carnivorous, and unless you were a Saiyan or being guarded by one, you'd probably be screwed if you were left out in the wilderness on your own.

As they approached the small house, Bulma let her eyes wander upon tiny, harmless looking animals, coming out from behind a tree or peering out from under a lush bush, staring in wonder at the blue-haired foreigner. It almost seemed as if they knew she'd come from Vegeta, the way they stared.

Chichi twirled as they entered through the wooden door, her skirts rising to create a flurry of shimmers. "Make yourself at home!" she insisted sweetly, her form disappearing from view as she pranced into the kitchen.

Timidly Bulma looked around the room, hearkening to the soft, rhythmic sound of the clock that hung upon the wall. It was so . . . comfortable. Even the smell was warm and welcoming. Not sure of what to do— also a bit worried of her curiosity getting the best of her--- she stepped into the kitchen as well, watching in silent fascination as Chichi began slicing a myriad of intoxicating herbs with amazing vigor. It was then that Bulma realized just how famished she was, her stomach churning as it released an almost embarrassing growl.

"Hey, Chich'! I'm back!"

The sudden, masculine voice broke through the serene silence, and Bulma whipped around in alarm. Mentally she cursed herself for being so tense.

_Well living on a planet with a bunch of bloodthirsty, raving lunatics will do that to you I guess—_

Her jaw dropped. There in the doorway stood an able-bodied, incredibly _handsome_ man; his eyes and childish grin seemed to unexplainably lighten his surroundings as he sauntered into the room. But what baffled her, was what lay perched on his shoulder: a massive, gray fish, nearly the same size as he was! Were most humans that strong? Were she and Mark just exceptions, weaker due to having lived under tyranny?

Why . . . did he look so familiar?

The angle of his face; the strong posture; the unruly, black locks that swept up as if from a windy day; it all seemed so vaguely familiar.

The man blinked in confusion as he studied the woman in front of him. "Oh, hi, Chich'!" After a moment his brows arched in abrupt shock. "What did you do to your hair! It's blue!"

From back in the kitchen came an annoyed, perturbed retort. "I'm in here, Goku! You idiot."

The man's warm glance now shifted toward the direction of the insult. As if he hadn't even heard what Chichi called him, his smile only broadened as he brushed nonchalantly past Bulma's shoulder. "Then who's she?"

"That's Bulma: a friend of mine. She's gonna be joining us for dinner."

When he moved past her, a small, flicker of movement inevitably caught Bulma's eye; and isn't instinct funny? Without even thinking she turned to examine the object that had so easily caught her attention, and she immediately regretted her careless action.

It twitched again, only this time, Bulma had a plain view of it.

A tail.

It slithered with a snake's grace, taunting her, entrancing her.

Panic and dread flooded through her, and before she could prevent it, a sharp screech emitted from her throat. "Ahhhh! Y-you're a— a Saiyan!"

The rhythmic sound of Chichi's knife stopped suddenly, and both she and the man turned to stare at the now hysteric girl, silent with bewilderment. "A what?"

Gulping down the quickly rising fear, Bulma pointed fervently to the cause of her fright. She couldn't believe they were acting as if they had no clue what she talking about. It was right there! Right there in plain sight for the whole world to see. "Y-you have a-a t-tail!"

Following the woman's trembling finger, Goku's eye's halted upon his tail. It swayed innocently behind him, like a child covering up a naughty deed. What was she so scared of? It was just his tail. "What's wrong with it?"

Bulma sputtered in disbelief, then stopped suddenly, realizing that these people were really serious. They really had no damn clue what she was talking about.

Come to think of it, they did appear a tad younger than her. _"Many felt it was an opportunity to 'start over'."_

_The Vow of Silence._

Bulma couldn't suppress the sudden twinge of dull loathing that bloomed within her; for Chichi's parents mostly. It was shameful to her how they could have hidden such a past from their daughter, letting her walk through her life an ignorant idiot.

B-but how could this be? How could that man not know of what she spoke? Had he come there to purge the planet perhaps? No— that couldn't be. If so, then for what possible purpose would he be doing this whole husband charade? If he had truly come there to purge Earth, she'd be standing in a waste land right now, standing hopeless and dead in the warm sand and earth. She took another quick glance of him, noting his confused, bewildered expression. He really had no idea, did he? What he was, or even what a Saiyan was?

It almost seemed . . . as though he had lost his memory somehow.

Kami had saved the Earth by giving the monster amnesia. She didn't know when, and she didn't know how; but it had been done.

Bulma wondered briefly if she should tell them, tell— what had Chichi called him— Goku— definitely not a Saiyan name— what he truly was and where he truly had come from. Should she enlighten him of Vegeta and his ruthless kind, the way they spread across the universe like an epidemic, leaving a trail of destruction wherever they went?

Yeah right.

It would be beneficial for all of them for her to keep her mouth shut. _Besides! _Bulma told herself. _He's so nice!_

"Oh!" Bulma giggled nervously, momentarily reminding herself of her mother. "Uh—I've—just—never seen a tail before! Heh, heh."

They remained silent.

Okay, now this was just plain embarrassing. "Um— could I use your phone? I--- need to call my mom."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

According to Earth time, Bulma calculated, it was probably around 8:00 by the time she got back. Chichi had been gracious enough to drive her back, insisting that it was "the least she could do for Bulma after saving her life". Bulma secretly wondered when she would get over it; to be perfectly honest, Bulma hadn't even meant to catch her. Chichi had just _conveniently _fallen backwards into her instinctive arms. Though of course, recalling the aggressive way Chichi had sliced the vegetables, Bulma had thought it wise not to tell her this.

She'd also found out that Chichi was two months pregnant. Her new friend had informed that though the name was undecided, she and Goku continued to lean toward the name "Gohan". Personally, Bulma found this relieving; the thought of another Saiyan made Bulma cringe.

Overall she guessed she had had a pretty good time, save for the discovery that Goku was a Saiyan. It had felt so strange, talking and laughing in genuine amusement with the same creature that had snatched her from her family and enslaved her for 3.1 moons. He was actually a pretty sweet guy, loving and carefree. Bulma wondered if he even knew how to fight. After all, it was in a Saiyan's blood to hunger for violence.

Wearily she came in through the garage, her mother beating her there, already standing with a tiring smile. "Did you have a good time with your friend, dear?"

"Yeah," Bulma said, doing her best to match the grin, "actually, I did."

Bunny clasped her hands together in delight. "Oh! That's good to hear!" She paused as she ran her eyes up and down Bulma's slouching form. "Oh, dear, you look positively worn out," she said sympathetically, pushing her daughter forcefully through the never ending halls and up the stairs. "You've had a long day I imagine. You should rest."

Bulma absorbed her mother's suggestion, but couldn't help but think subconsciously of her father. "W-where's dad? How is he?"

Mrs. Briefs waved a hand in dismiss. "He's sleeping," she said reassuringly. "Just like a baby."

Bulma looked disappointed at this news. She'd wanted to be with him a little longer, to savor their finally being together. Also, Bulma had forgotten to ask him about the invisibility device and its fuel source. She had to say, she'd grown attached to the thing. But Bunny once again assured her that she'd be able to see him in the morning, before practically rushing her off to bed.

And a luxurious, warm slumber it was; on a luxurious, warm bed that could fit more than two Saiyans . . .

Just like a Queen.

A/N: **_PLEASE REVIEW!_**


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

_**The Perfect Flaw**_

_**Chapter VIII**_

In the distant night, a vibrant light plummeted down toward Earth, its strength belying its beauty as it impacted forcibly onto the planet's surface. Another soon followed, darting swiftly and majestically across the sky.

As the first pod's door hissed open, Vegeta climbed out with a bitter face, seething the fact at having been crammed in the small space for hours. That thing they dared call a chair had nearly consumed him, and he now felt as vile kinks and sores skittered unwelcomely down his neck and back. Irritably he stretched to relieve the pain; he could withstand the bloodiest battles, he could acquiesce to the most painful of blows if needed be, but the Prince of all Saiyans could not rid of a mere back sore.

He grumbled and waited for the cloud of dust to disappear before taking flight into the cool, Earth atmosphere. He soared in an effort to distance himself from the crater so he could get a better view of his surroundings. All the while he savored the new peculiar change in temperature. On Planet Vegeta, it was generally humid and a day with a temperature of 110̊ was considered perfect. Here Vegeta found much to his pleasure that the breeze was cool and crisp, tickling his skin and ruffling his upswept hair.

He halted suddenly, a good thirty feet above the ground. Green. Vast amounts of yellowish-green stretched across the flat surface, and the outlandish, leave less trees were plentiful as they swayed feebly with the wind. It was then that Vegeta noticed the natural, almost clean smell that washed over him, and he inclined his head to inhale its goodness. It seemed to be ebbing off the trees that stood beyond him, their branches wafting the sweet, fragrant scent in his direction.

The Saiyan had been unaware of his eyes drifting shut against the cool breeze, they snapped open in alarm as he broke from his momentary daze.

Time to get down to business.

The serenity in his features now hardened into one of diligence as Vegeta brought a gloved finger to his scouter. As rapid numbers fluttered across the screen, he was taken aback as his father's statement reverberated within his mind. _"Do you know how hard it will be to track down that one slave, with her low ki! You'd never find her." _He'd been right, as much as Vegeta hated to admit it, even mentally. Overall, this planet was ridiculously weak; most of the power levels were but mere 3's and 4's, perhaps an occasional 6.

How was he supposed to find the girl if there was no distinguishable rank between any of the humans?

Just then, a number flew across the screen and halted, as if flaunting its greatness. Vegeta couldn't suppress the gasp the surfaced as he observed the ki that's range differed so greatly from the others: 5,000.

He found it beyond peculiar, that that power was so much more significant than the ones before. Could it be another alien perhaps? One that had come from a faraway planet, just as he had? After a moment, the Prince's lips curled into an inevitable smirk. This trip just kept getting better and better.

A few more of the larger numbers flaunted before his eyes, only causing his sneer to broaden. They still weren't as great as the one which had amazingly surprised him, but they were still massive in comparison to the weaklings'. Perhaps if he had spare time at the end of his mission, he could have some fun with the Earthlings. At this thought, his deprived muscles began to tingle with the need for a good and violent fight.

That is, unless they were the ones who were guarding his precious Dragon Balls. Or worse, if they were there for the same reason as he: to steal them.

A small distant hiss reached his keen ears and Vegeta spun around to look down into the second crater which Kitser had produced. He watched as Kitser stumbled out from the pod, now lying prone in the hard, brown earth. _Imbecile._

He then turned back to his scouter as yet another reading appeared on the screen, beeping wildly, signaling a life form that was but yards away. Slowly his gaze fell upon a bush that lay a few yards before him, and almost amused he touched down onto the surface, making his way toward the small rustling sound.He waited a moment in patience as the shuffling continued, and wondered with a sneer if the human truly thought himself safe behind the flimsy bush. But after a few minutes, that rare patience quickly thinned into nothing as the creature continued to hide like a coward. Vegeta outstretched a steady hand, releasing a thin, red beam into the blackness.

Success. A sudden yelp erupted as the stranger leaped out in frenzy, having just narrowly missed the blast. His eyes were wide with fright as he slowly turned to face his attacker.

Vegeta scowled at the human's appearance: he looked rundown, and down right ancient. His clothes were nothing but rags that hung loosely from his meatless skeleton, and his stench was putrid. It easily drowned out the sweet smell of earth and plant that had first welcomed the Saiyan. _A slave among his own kind? _Power level: 3. How pathetic.

Smugly Vegeta stalked forward, watching in amusement as the human's knees gave away beneath him, causing him to fall backwards on to the grass; he was paralyzed in fear. "P-please, d-don't hurt m-me," he rasped, shielding his eyes as some sort of weak protection.

Begging for his life: even more pathetic. "Can you tell me where I am?" the Saiyan asked calmly, taking another intimidating step forward.

The man began to shiver violently as he caught sight of tail that unwound carefully from the Prince's waist. He opened his mouth to acquiesce to the question, but found something vaguely resembling a squeak came instead.

Vegeta sighed, his eyes skimming over the creature's trembling form once more. Perhaps he should rephrase the question. "Where is the nearest city to here?" the words poured slowly from him, syllable by syllable, with hope that he'd receive an answer this time.

"U-uh— N-new York C-city," the man gulped. " . . .Sir."

Like that helped. He still didn't have a damned clue where the hell he was. How the hell did they expect him to find _one _human out of billions of the annoying little insects? He didn't even know the fugitive's name for Gods' sake! He made a mental note that when he became King, he would make sure that in his Empire, stupidity was illegal.

Vegeta's attention was drawn back to the petrified man who had now burst into tears of self pity. The Prince scorned down upon human, feeling as though he would gag at the human's fear. What lied before him was no where close to being a living, comprehending individual. In Vegeta's warrior eyes, what lied before him was lower than trash itself: no pride, no bravery, not even respect in himself; and yet here he was, having the nerve to plead fervently for his life, fooling himself into believing he was actually worthy enough to go on living with his shame. So _weak_,so _pitiful_, so _worthless._

The man noticed Vegeta staring down at him, his gaze blank and burning; the alien hadn't blinked for an entire minute, and unease wormed its way into his stomach. He wondered briefly if perhaps it was an android. "S-sir?"

Vegeta was silent as he extended an open palm.

The man stuttered as the being's hand grew inhumanly radiant, and in an instant, his body was flung into the distance, a lifeless heap.

As the thin wisp of smoke rose like a stem from the hole in the man's chest, the Saiyan's nose crinkled at the stench of burnt flesh that seemingly reached him from even yards away.

Behind him came Kitser's "awwww" of mocked sympathy. "Wow, that sure doesn't look like much fun," he commented sadly while

Vegeta started forward through the darkness, deliberately ignoring the toad's remark.

He knew his first priority was to seek out the girl, but where to start? How to find her? He planned to get it over with quickly so he could spend his remaining time searching for the Dragon Balls.

Kitser scurried forward to be along side his liege, staring up at him with secret admiration and absent longing. "What are we going to do first, M'Lord?"

_We. _He nearly cringed by the way Kitser addressed themselves as if they were some sort of team. Once again, his fingers itched with the desire to strangle the little toad, but instead he answered in a quiet mumble. "I have to find the fugitive. But I have no idea how to locate her."

The second sentence had been said mainly to himself, but nevertheless, Kitser straightened nobly and prepared to make his Prince proud. "M'Lord," he began, clearing his throat discreetly, "if I may make a suggestion."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Goku lay restlessly in bed while his eyes stare thoughtfully at the ceiling. He'd awoken not to long ago after having a peaceful dream of eating pie, and had then inevitably found his mind wandering to his future son.

He couldn't believe it. In but seven months, he was going to be a dad.

It sounded so strange. A _dad. _In a way, though he wasn't fond of admitting it openly, he was almost . . . scared. It wasn't so much that there was going to be another member in the family, someone else he'd have to train with, someone else to compete with him at the dinner table. It was the baby itself.

What if he didn't like him? What if he wasn't a good father? What if he failed in protecting—

Goku's tail bristled, his eyes large as a wave of sudden power rippled through him.

_What was **that**? _

It was gigantic, whatever it was, like a beacon on the brink of his mind. It called out to him, reached out to him, and for a mere instant, Goku felt as it nearly consumed him, making his own mind boggling power seem insignificant in comparison.

The air suddenly seemed thicker, harder to breathe as an ominous presence now loomed menacingly over the Earthling's head, tainting the sweet, clean oxygen. Even as the monstrous surge of power diminished, becoming nothing more than tranquil waves that lapped against the shores of his mind, the miasma did not dissipate.

And with that, Goku bid farewell to his carefree thoughts.

A/N: kinda short, I know. And I also know this is probably torture for some of you that don't have patience. But he's getting ever so closer! Muahahahah! _**PLEASE REVIEW!** _


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ

_**The Perfect Flaw**_

_**Chapter IX**_

Bulma awoke that morning feeling alive and anew. Refusing to leave her heavenly pillows she elongated herself in a monstrous, cat like stretch, squinting slightly from the sunlight that cascaded into her room. Sunlight. It felt wonderful to awaken for once to the sun instead of being jerked awake by a wake up call.

The mattress she'd slept on last night had been inexplicable comfortable, seemingly matching every position of her body as if it had been made to fit her and _only _her.

Reluctantly she pulled herself upright and rubbed the drowsiness from her weary eyes. She then swung her feet over the bedside and climbed to her feet in disarray, stopping to give another yawn. What time was it anyway?_ Who cares?_

Bulma lazily treaded down the carpeted stairs. The calm sizzling sound of breakfast greeted her as she stepped into the kitchen, and her stomach gave a vicious growl. She leaned over with mild embarrassment. Even though she had eaten just last night, she found herself _yearning _for the exotic taste of her home planet's cooking; the aroma wasn't helping either. It was wafted toward Bulma by an invisible breeze, beckoning her to forget about manners and gorge until her heart's content.

Though Bunny didn't turn to acknowledge her, Bulma could still feel her lopsided smile. "Good morning, dear," she said sweetly, raising her voice slightly over the sizzling. "I can hear someone's worked up an appetite over the night!" She giggled.

Bulma blushed as another grumble rose in her stomach. It was almost as if it were making a comeback to Mrs. Brief's remark. "What're you making, Mom?"

"Bacon 'n eggs."

Without even realizing it, Bulma had glided up to stand behind her mom, taking in the sweetly-nauseating scent. The second thing she'd mentioned, eggs, she recognized, but not the first. But no matter; it smelled like meat, and for the first time, Bulma felt as though she were a Saiyan pushing down the malicious carnivore that was bubbling inside her.

"It'll be done soon," Bunny stated after a short silence. "Why don't you watch some t.v. while you wait?"

Bulma reluctantly complied, leaving the kitchen to sink into the sofa's soft cushions. She reached for the remote and in a flash, numerous images flashed across the screen, leaving Bulma in mild confusion as she struggled to figure out what was going on. She guessed it was what Mark had called a commercial, when random advertisements and situations would occur to give the main show a short break. Bulma frowned. She wasn't sure she liked commercials; they were confusing.

She hit mute, sighing when the distracting noise subsided into a sweet, utter silence. Now she could think. Leisurely she allowed herself to sink further into the couch as her thoughts began to wander, thinking about the rest of the sunny day that lay ahead. She could do anything! They really weren't coming after her, were they, the Saiyans? They'd decided to leave her in peace; she guessed it was because it was just _one _slave that had escaped, nothing to big to worry about.

Maybe she'd call Chichi and they could hang out again. Maybe Goku could teach her how to fish, or maybe she could work on a fun invention or something. _I don't know, there's so much I can do!_

"Breakfast is served!" Bunny sang brightly as she pranced into the living room, a plate of steaming bacon and eggs in her hands. "I sure hope my little girl's as hungry as I think she is!" She placed the hot plate on to Bulma lap with a simper.

Bulma gawked at the plethora of eggs and bacon, and she could have sworn for a brief moment that she was drooling. Just in case, she wiped her sleeve across her chin and mouth. "Oh look!" she heard her mother's small gasp. "They're talking about your space-pod again."

On pure instinct Bulma looked up from her meal, watching as the camera zoomed in and focused on the white, spherical ship. A wave of inevitable guilt crashed over her then. Guilt blanketed her conscience for making everyone worry for no reason; now the whole world probably thought the Saiyans were on Earth again, and were probably going to end up breaking _The Vow of Silence _which they had worked so hard to preserve for all these years. Bulma wished she could do something, but what?

Bulma stilled suddenly, squinting her eyes to focus on the bottom left corner of the screen.

_What the hell? _

There, in the bottom right corner, the time read in bold digits . . . 10:45 p.m (A/N: remember the time zones.).

And it was _live_.

Something beyond fear or dread clutched in Bulma's stomach, unreachable no matter how much pressure she applied or how many pain killers she took. _No_. She then clumsily fumbled for the remote and hit the mute button, instantly met with the abrupt voice of a worried reporter. She could tell the reporter was doing his best to conceal his concern, but he was failing miserably. _"Live from Long Island, Mike reports." _Long Island, New York. America. That's where Mark was from.

The camera switched back to the pod, where a skinny, trembling man stood beside it. Bulma couldn't tell whether he was shivering because of the temperature, or because of fright. _"Thanks Jim,"_ he commented, almost automatically, _"I'm here in the out skirts of the city, where we've just stumbled upon **two** unidentified aircrafts." _He then turned to point it out, as if the viewers couldn't already see it. The small pod laid at the bottom of an immense landing crater. _"It's believed that they landed sometime earlier in the evening, around the time when many witnesses claim they saw two comets in the sky." _He cleared his throat suddenly. _"What could this mean, Ladies and Gentleman?_ _For many of you, you may recognize this ship as being eerily similar to the one from years ago . . . back to you, Jim."_

Bulma heard the distant sound as the plate fell from her lap to plummet and splatter on to the floor. But she wasn't there to feel guilty from the mess it made. Already she was in the bathroom with her head leaned over the toilet seat, heaving what little dinner she had from last night into the bowl.

When finished, she gave a meek moan as she stepped out from the bathroom, only to fall to her knees in disbelief.

_Live . . . from Long Island. . . Space-pod . . . Not mine. _

She couldn't believe it. That meant . . . they had come after her, and they were already here, most likely searching for her at that very moment. _This isn't happening— this **can't **be happening._

But who? Already two of the Saiyans' ships had been found, presently, but that didn't mean a Goddamn thing. There could be others out there in various areas. Was it Commander Semuld? Was he so determined on capturing her and pleasing the King? Her damp eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat as a heart-stopping realization hit her mercilessly. What if— what if they were there to do something worse? To catch her--- and purge Earth as a punishment for her selfishness? She couldn't imagine it, she refused to!

Somewhere above her she heard a gentle voice. Her head felt like lead as she lifted it, meeting her mother's worried stare. Seeing her there, with that look of concern— she couldn't hold it anymore. She could feel the tears hot against her cheeks, and Bunny knelt down in front of her, gathering her daughter into her arms with a gentle "hush". It was from far from helpful; in fact it only caused her to her to burst into more overwhelming tears, the cries now wrenching from her throat in nothing more than raw emotion.

An abrupt image flashed across her brain, allowing her to momentarily witness the scene from a third person point of view: Bulma Briefs, huddled impotently in her parent's arms, selfishly sobbing into the warm, comforting shoulder, absently wishing that those arms would never let go. Somewhere inside, she truly felt that if she were to retreat from this rare embrace, she would never again find safety; she felt safe in these arms. She'd waited her entire life for this feeling of security, and was determined to never let go of it.

"I'm sorry!" Bulma blurted suddenly, burying her head in shame. "I-I'll clean up the mess in the living room."

"Oh, no you won't," came the stern response. "Don't you worry about that. I'll get it right away." Bunny tightened her grip as she could feel the tears soaking through her dress.

"It's a-all my fault," Bulma cried, timidly pushing away from the embrace to stare into her mother's eyes. "If I had never come, they w-wouldn't be here right now." She swallowed the lump in her throat before continuing. "N-now they're here! A-and—,"

"Shhh."

"No! You don't understand!" Bulma paused, taking in Bunny's form and expression. She recalled her father lying sick in bed; Goku and Chichi; she recalled Chichi's unborn child, Gohan. They'd all be gone soon; even the lecher she'd met in the street. Everyone on the planet would be gone; all because of her. When they took her back to Vegeta, what would she say to Mark? How would she ever be able to talk to him again? How could she live every day with the guilt of knowing that she had been the cause of her planet's destruction? "T-there's no stopping them, Mom! They have no compassion! They're nothing but a bunch of sociopaths!"

She struggles ceased and she didn't have the mental strength to fight as her mother took her into another sympathetic embrace.

_What am I going to do? _

Subliminal, horrid images of the Harem— of the dream she'd had in the space podraced through her mind. Visions of wastelands that had once been teeming with commotion and life played behind her eyelids— _haunting _her— _taunting _her.

_What **can **I do?_

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"Hurry up!" the Prince hissed, stopping momentarily from his training to shoot the toad an intimidating glare. "I want to find the girl, _this century._"

Kitser gave an emphatic nod, and a smile that was eager to please. "Oh yes! Yes! Of course, M'Lord!" Carefully he held the invention in front of him, waddling rapidly to where Vegeta stood, practicing target shooting. "Just had to get rid of a few kinks. Now, it should be able to track down the fugitive based on the information we provide it. It really is a smart little bugger!"

He cackled as he placed the small contraption in Vegeta's hands, backing away expectantly, as if waiting for the Saiyan to begin. After a moment of silence, Vegeta's scowl only deepened. "Well, what do I do, you idiot?"

"Just describe the slave, and it will do the rest."

Vegeta turned back to the contraption, faltering. "Er— s-she's a female with— uh— blue hair and blue eyes, and she's fairly short in height." His body tingled with the feeling of absolute stupidity.

The thing complied with a sudden beep, levitating out of the Saiyan's hands. It hovered before Vegeta's face for another second before short circuiting, spitting an abundance of black smoke and aluminum into the Prince's face. Vegeta stumbled backward, waving the thick cloud of smoke away as he caught the tiny machine with his free hand. When it cleared, he stared down at Kitser, allowing his servant to lay eyes upon the fresh cut on his Lord's cheek. The toad smiled sheepishly. "Oops. Guess I forgot about one more kink."

That was the last straw. Out of all the idiotic things the servant had ever done, this was the most intolerable. The Saiyan's temper had now surpassed its peak as he shoved the device into the creature's arms, pointing an imperative finger up the hill. "Go over there."

Kitser blinked in bemusement while following his liege's line of sight, turning back to study the Prince. His face was simply unreadable. "W-why—,"

"Just do it." Vegeta's order was cold and sharp, causing Kitser to flinch slightly. "That thing you call an invention is a piece of crap. I'm going to destroy it."

Kitser was still bewildered. _Why does he want me to go up on the hill though? _"But I worked so hard on it, M'Lord," he whined pathetically, treading his way through the brush and up the hill where he stopped once more in an attempt to decipher his Lord's intentions which lay beyond the impassive mask.. "What do you want me to do with it?"

Vegeta's nose crinkled in contempt. "Oh, just stay where you are." Like a gun he then extended two fingers, noting with cruel amusement the single bead of sweat that formed on Kitser's forehead. "Father always told me," he began in a mentor's tone, shutting one eye to focus on the device, "to make an opportunity out of any deed you do. And what better way to destroy that thing" — a malicious smirk broke out on his lips— "than making it part of my target practice?"

The toad was trembling violently now. He licked his lips nervously. "W-well— uh— w-where do you want me to set it?"

"Oh no," Vegeta corrected, his sneer broadening. "I want you to stay right where you are— and just hold out your arm so I can get better aim at it."

Tentatively Kitser complied to his Lord's wishes, extending his invention out to the side of him, turning his head away in fear.

The Saiyan's eye narrowed. "Don't worry, this will be good practice." With great care he shifted his arm slightly, stopping when it was aligned with the machine which lay in Kitser's shivering hand. "Stop moving or I can't focus." The trembling stopped. Everything lay silent and still for a long moment as Vegeta continued to shift into better aim. Meanwhile Kitser was having a hard time following his Lord's command to stand still. His lips quivered in prayer, and over and over he assured himself that the Prince knew what he was doing. He had full confidence in him.

Everything happened so quickly once the silence was broken by the hiss of the blue beam. In the space of a heartbeat it shot through the air, colliding directly with its target.

Slowly Kitser opened his eyes, turning slowly to see his empty hand. He wheezed when realizing it wasn't there . . . and nor was his arm. Instead a fountain of blood spewed from his shoulder, showering the dead grass beside him. His mouth wrenched opened in a silent scream. "M-my arm! M'Lord, my arm . . . I-it's gone!"

Vegeta didn't care about what Frieza or his father would say anymore; he was going to find the Dragon Balls anyway. It just felt so good to finally do what he'd always wanted to ever since the first day Kitser had served under him. A victorious satisfaction spread warmly throughout his veins, and his smile faded in mocking disappointment. "Oops . . . I missed."

He then sauntered his way up the hill, ignoring the nuisance that was now on his knees in agony, a pool of blood beneath him. Vegeta continued to the top, where he stood triumphantly, his keen eyes feeding off the immense human city that lay out in the distance.

He'd find the girl on his own. He'd think of a way without an insolent servant at his side . . .

Even if he had to destroy every city on the planet to find her.

A/N: I was a little discouraged; I only got like 2 reviews on my last chapter. But hey! Can't let that stop me, right? **_PLEASE REVIEW!_**


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ. Hope you like the story so far.

_**The Perfect Flaw**_

_**Chapter X**_

After learning the devastating news, Bulma had gone upstairs to take a shower, hoping the warm, relaxing water would help her to forget about her worries. Sadly it didn't. The thoughts instead grew worse through the duration of the cleansing, causing tears to once again threaten her eyes. Desperate, she began to sing. She sang a song that she'd known ever since she'd been a little girl, a song that she'd fallen in love with the first time she'd heard it being sung at the funeral of General Tomat. And it worked. The words poured slowly out of her, and her mind concentrated only on the poetry. It talked of war and honor, which Bulma found almost laughable, considering the fact those heartless monsters had none. How could they possibly call terrorizing innocent civilizations an meaninglessly destroying lives honorable?

After the shower, she pulled on a pair of black pants (spandex?), and a pair of yellow boots that matched her new sleeveless jacket. Gingerly she then ran a brush through her smooth hair and stood back to admire it in the mirror, before deciding to use a head band instead. After doing so she stared back at her reflection with a weak smile. "Much better."

As Bulma made her way into the living room, she drew in a sudden breath when seeing her father on the couch. _Did Mom tell him? _If she had, he sure didn't seem very concerned; not as concerned as he could and should be.

Cautiously she approached the sofa, noting absently the fresh stain on the carpet from where she'd dropped her plate. Had her mom told him? Or did she perhaps find it better not to inform him of the news due to his illness? "Dad?" Mr. Briefs stirred, turning his head to regard her with glazed eyes.

He smiled. "Hey there, Pumpkin."

"D-did Mom tell you?" she asked abruptly, cutting right to the point.

After a moment, he nodded with difficulty. Bulma's heart sank. When seeing her sad expression, her father's smile broadened in hopes of cheering her up. "Don't worry though, dear," he assured lightly with a painful laugh. "I was going to die anyway."

Bulma was appalled by his sudden words and she didn't know what it was, but she could feel her anger suddenly rise. "What're you talking about!" she shouted in rage, upset with his lack of faith in her. "No one on this planet's gonna die because of those monsters! I'm gonna make sure of it! I'll think of a way to stop it, I swear I will!" She paused suddenly. What the hell was _she_ talking about? How did she possibly expect to stop the Saiyans? When she spoke again, her voice had lost its sudden confidence. "I just . . . don't know how."

Dr. Briefs had listened to his daughter's short speech, admiring the courage and determination that had decorated her tone; except for the last frail sentence. A sudden, brilliant though crossed his mind, causing a genuine smile to touch his lips. "Well, there is one way."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

_Geldin 37, 451 a. d. _

_Dear Diary,_

_I found out some devastating news this morning. When I made it to Earth (and I did make it to Earth by the way), I had been confident that the Saiyans had stayed behind. After all, what's one slave missing out of trillions, right? Wrong! They actually followed me! And they're undoubtedly searching for me right now. I also fear the possibility of Earth being purged, either for punishment, or for the hell of it._

_Will I never find peace in my life? Maybe it's my fate: to be miserable with an omen hovering over me where ever I go._

_I know Kett thinks me brave and courageous; but if only he could know . . ._

_How much I'm shaking right now._

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"Stupid piece of shit!"

The man cursed fervently, hitting the radio in an attempt to release some of the anger that was rapidly building. "Nothing good's on!"

But that wasn't the real reason he was worked up. He had an important meeting to get to; the most important that was putting his very job on the line, and here he was, held up in major traffic. And the radio wasn't helping either: on nearly every station people were rambling on in fret of the Saiyans, questioning aloud if the world was coming to an end. _The world **will** end if I don't get to that damn meeting!_

In overwhelming frustration the man stuck his head out the car window, releasing a string of heavy threats and curses to the vehicles in front of him. And finally, as if they had actually heard him, the blue ford before him glided forward, leaving an admirable gap between them. "Finally!"

He began to move forward, a triumphant curve to his lips, before something caught his eye. Dumbfounded he looked up into the night sky, gasping in horror as he locked on to the hovering form that was only feet above them. He was so startled that he didn't even do anything at first; he was just too absorbed into what he was staring at, trying hard to tell himself that it was his mere imagination. It looked like a man . . . in blue spandex, and armor, and . . . a tail.

The appendage wound securely around the figure's waist, just the tip swaying to and fro in eerie stoicism. It was then that the man lost it. He was jerked from his daze as he rammed into the car in front of him, his mouth wrenching open in a very un manly scream. "I-it's a Saiyan! They're here! They're actually here!"

The curses of annoyance and vexation from his action stopped suddenly, and they soon followed the man's gaze to where the being hovered. Each jaw dropped at the sight. It was the monster of all their nightmares; the devil himself: a Saiyan.

The entire crowds of the nighttime city fell to an eerie hush at the announcement, and tensely they continued to study the inhuman being with boggled eyes, all silently wondering what was to come next. Was it just a hoax perhaps: an careless individual somehow creating a levitation device and building a mechanical tail, just for a good prank?

Not likely.

Vegeta smiled at their silence. He loved the fear that was practically radiating off the tiny ants, the way they gawked at him as if he were the mightiest being in the universe.

Unable to contain it any longer, a random woman extended an accusing finger, a shrill cry emitting rawly from her throat. And that was the cue. Screams and frenzied shouts rose among the city as people sprinted in all directions. Cars' engines roared as they sped forward in panic, the drivers careless as they rammed into the vehicles before them or simply ran over one of their own kind.

Would you look at that: he hadn't even lifted a finger, and already they were dying off like flies. Vegeta couldn't help but laugh in cruel amusement at the cowards.

But it was time to get down to business. He had to find the girl as quickly as possible. In a flash the Prince was before the first skyscraper, his eyes running up and down its height. Extending a single hand, his entrance wouldn't soon be forgotten as the doors blew away without the slightest resistance, revealing an abundance of stunned, pale faces. As if mired to the floor, the people stopped in their tracks, taking in the shattered glass and the being that stood haughtily before them.

Vegeta's eyes shifted meaningfully as he peered through the group, searching carefully for his target. "A female: blue hair; mild height! You've seen her?" he shouted with thin patience, his frown deepening when the weaklings merely continued to stare. "Answer me, you fools!"

One brave woman stepped forward. She clung tightly to the brief case in her arms, her wide, limpid eyes regarding the Saiyan shyly from behind a pair of large glasses. When she spoke, her voice was soft with fright. "N-no, sir; t-there's no one here with b-blue hair."

She had hoped that telling this creature that his search was useless here would encourage him to leave them in peace, but she was sadly mistaken.

Instead Vegeta's nose crinkled in vexation. "Useless," he muttered, raising a gloved finger in the girl's direction. Her eyes widened as a white beam sped toward her, her screech unheard as she was engulfed by its searing heat. The bystanders gasped, women and men alike bringing a hand to shield their nose from the stench of burnt flesh as they backed away from the ashes.

It was obvious this man was not one who could be reasoned with; he wasn't even human. He'd come from Hell itself. A Saiyan.

However, many were still clueless of what this monster was. They stared in mortified and confused, their limbs trembling violently as the creature took a step back. Without another word Vegeta receded through the front entrance from which he'd come, never taking his gaze off the humans. As he found himself once again hovering high above the hysteric streets of the city, he brought his palms together, his glare hardening in concentration. Well, he knew one building was useless; he might as well make a mark. And with that conclusion, he watched as his raw power collided into the building's side. A dramatic pause followed as all he heard was the sound of it making contact. It then gradually sank into the ground, a billow of dust rising among both it and humans' remains.

The crowds below him were frenzied anew as the skyscraper toppled before them. The Saiyan above them was now the least of their troubles as they stumbled and jostled their way past one another, desperate to escape the thick, suffocating air.

Vegeta's lips curled in a sadistic grin. One building down; fifty more to go.

"Come out, come out, where ever you are."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"What is it, Daddy?" Bulma fiddled with the strange contraption, her fingers itching to press the tempting buttons.

With difficulty Dr. Briefs stood with a straight back, clearing his throat with pride. He leaned close to his daughter, directing an informing finger across its surface. "Well, it's called a 'dragon radar'."

"Dragon . . . radar," the young scientist repeated redundantly, the strange word rolling casually from her tongue. She wondered how this was so supposed to help her stop the Saiyans though. What was its purpose that caused her father to treat it with such significance? "What's it used for?"

"For the Dragon Balls, my dear."

Bulma's thin brows crept upwards in curiosity. "What's a Dragon Ball?"

At this sudden question, Dr. Briefs took a meaningful step back, his eyes flashing with nostalgia as they stared absently at the ceiling. "Ah, those were the good times." He sighed in absent longing. "If only I could go back in time."

"What is it, Daddy?"

He continued, but he was far from acknowledging the question; he was too deep in his reverie. "When I was younger, I build that radar to find the Dragon Balls." Subconsciously he took the device from Bulma's limp grip, examining it with longing and affection. "The Dragon Balls . . . I found them, too. They granted my wish of finding the perfect woman. Bunny."

It took a moment for Bulma to process what he'd said, and when she did, she founding herself emitting a dry laugh. She hadn't meant for it to sound as cold as it did. "Did you say, 'wish'?" How could that be? As a scientist, she was sorry to say that the concept of 'wishing' went against all her intellectual logic. She found it hard to believe.

But then again, how exactly was 'ki' explainable in scientific terms?

Her father ignored the skepticism. "Yes, I wished for the perfect woman . . . and I got her. There are seven of them, the Dragon Balls. When gathered in one setting, a mystical dragon, Shenron, appears to grant one wish; any wish the heart desires." As he spoke, Bulma imagined the magical dragon in her mind, watching in awe as it swooped into the sky with amazing grace, looking down on her as it read her thoughts to identify her problems and emotions. Was it possible? Was her father speaking the truth? Or was his illness affecting his common sense?

He broke reluctantly from his daze then, striding forward to place the radar back into her waiting hands. A warm, dimpled grin stretched across his lips, the one that immediately melted Bulma's heart. "I'm giving it to you now," he said softly. "I know you'll be able to find them. And when you do, you need to make the wish that will send those Saiyans away with their tails between their legs."

But she wasn't sure, wasn't sure if she could bring herself to believe such a notion: a dragon that was only summoned when the 'Dragon Balls' were gathered, and would _grant any wish. _It just . . . sounded so childish; like something someone would tell as a bedtime story to their children. But Bulma looked up slightly, meeting her father's hopeful smile; the smile that sparked an inexplicable emotion that usually lay dormant within her; the smile that said: "Trust me. I believe in you."

And subconsciously her grip tightened upon the device, sudden, unexplainable determination flowing through her. "Okay, Dad," she confirmed sternly, "whatever you say."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Like dominoes, building after building tumbled beneath the Saiyan Prince's wrath. Naturally he couldn't help but smile at the weaklings; especially their form of "defense".

Within minutes of his rampage, aircrafts had flown down to almost haughtily surround and corner him, their pathetic excuse for "weapons" firing savagely. Now of course Saiyans found it dishonorable to use weapons, but really, to not even be able to create one properly? Please. With laughable ease he'd been able to catch each bullet in mid-fire, considering their sluggish speed. The reactions he got were quite comical as well. Panic was evident as they then made a cowardly attempt to retreat, only to find that there was no way to escape from the Saiyan Prince.

Before long, the air was thick with death and destruction, leaving Vegeta with a mixture of emotions. On one hand, he felt a refreshing wave of satisfaction at having finally quenched his bloodlust; the need for a killing spree having built up inside him for a long time. But on the other hand, he still hadn't found the girl, even after checking a good quantity of the city's buildings. By now Vegeta had a pretty good hunch by now that she probably wasn't in this city, but undoubtedly he could feel his frustration growing. How the hell was he supposed to find her?

He hovered in the night sky, his fingers drumming upon his tightly crossed arms to signal both his impatience and pensiveness. He blinked suddenly, readings flashing across his scouter and startling him from his thoughts. _"Sire? Prince Vegeta, are you there?"_

The Prince scowled at the familiar voice. Commander Semuld. "What do you want?" he snapped derisively. It wasn't that he was directing his anger to the Commander, _exactly_; he had to rid of the aggression somehow.

"_Well, Sire, we've found some of the girl's colleagues who actually know a little something about the girl," _he informed briskly, a tad of pride in his voice at having done his loyal duty. _"Apparently they knew she was going to attempt escape_; _they're pretty stubborn, too. So far we've only been able to get her name."_

Vegeta's eyes widened at this. Her name, eh? Even just that would be extremely useful. "Well, don't keep me waiting! What is it!"

"_Bulma Briefs."_

Bulma Briefs. Vegeta's mind twiddled with the odd name, and he let it roll off his tongue a few times before realizing the Commander was still speaking. _"I'll contact you if we get anymore information, Sire."_

And with that, the message disconnected, leaving Vegeta to furrow his brows in thought. Now surely her name could be of use? He cursed silently as he set his intellect to work.

Deftly he closed his eyes and blocked out the cries of the humans below him. His eyelids were cool from the breeze; the blackness of his mind strangely comforting.

Within moments his eyes snapped open as a brilliant idea flashed across his brain.

Hurriedly he rotated in his position, his gaze shifting carefully from building to building. No luck, for even though blatant lettering stood on each skyscraper, it was letting that was not familiar to the Prince. For all he knew, he could be staring directly at what he was searching for, and not even be aware of it. Dammit.

Taking a deep breath he stopped suddenly. It was time to solve this once and for all. As nearly every inhabitant on Planet Vegeta knew, patience was not one of the Prince's strongest virtues; with a growl he touched ground and lashed out a swift hand, successfully grabbing a handful of cloth. He lifted the petrified man from his feet and spun him around to give him a threatening glare. The prey merely cowered, his eyes bulging as they sought out a shred of hope in the roaring crowd. But sadly, it didn't take much brain to realize he was on his own, the crowd having already continued their chaotic flow around the confrontation.

A bitter smile formed on the Saiyan's lips, his eyes narrowing. "Surely an advanced civilization such as yours has a way of making a broadcast of some sort, no?"

The human faltered as his paralyzed mind groped for an answer. He stuttered and gave a tremulous nod. "U-uh-huh."

Vegeta's grin broadened. "Take me there."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Fortunately for Vegeta, his hostage complied with his wishes more than willingly.

But unfortunately for the man, he was one of many to find first hand that Vegeta was not one of gratitude. The Prince had rid of him without so much as a second thought, as soon as they had reached the specified location.

Vegeta now stood stoically in the flooding, frantic crowds, his hard gaze turned upward to the immense skyscraper that stood before him. He only hoped this would work, for if it didn't, then what then? What would he do about finding the slave? His frown deepened.

All he wanted to do was find the damn Dragonballs! And he couldn't help but feel that with each wasted minute that passed by, it was negating his opportunity of finding them. When he found this 'Bulma Briefs', he'd have to make sure to give her a thorough beating; maybe that would knock some sense into her, teach her better than attempting to escape from the Saiyan Empire.

Okay, he'd admit he was ostentatious as he broke through the nighttime glass, making it obvious to the bystanders that the keen shards did no harm whatsoever to his inhuman skin. He was even more pleased with the reaction to his vaunted entrance.

The sheer power of the break in threw the two humans to the floor from their desk, where they now lay panic stricken, staring up at him with horrified fascination, their faces as pale as Frieza's; behind them numerous others stilled in awkward, paralyzed positions; one's eyes rolled back in a dramatic swoon.

No one made a move as Vegeta's eyes skimmed thoughtfully over them, as though reading their very thoughts. His eyes paused and fell slowly upon the woman on the floor. She whimpered, her eyes widening and her mussed hair spilling delibrately into her face in an attempt to hide her fear. "I want to make a broadcast." The eerie calmness of his voice sent a rapid chill racing down each human's spine. It was deadly, threatening, and made it clear that he desired no protests.

The man and woman on the ground nodded vigorously in unison; the last thing they wanted was to make this creature angry.

The Prince shifted his glare back on the individuals that lurked further back, and he eyed the cameras almost hungrily. "Are they on?" The man behind the contraption trembled when realizing the question was directed to him.

He gave an audible gulp. "U-uh— y-yeah . . ."

Vegeta smirked with satisfaction. "Good," he stated simply as he strolled to the desk, ignoring the woman's cry as he nearly missed bringing his foot down on her leg. She pulled it away and scrambled back just in time; he would have completely crushed it, deliberate or not, it made no difference. She and just about everyone else in this room knew of what the demon was capable of, and she didn't want to risk any further being near that monster.

Vegeta's face visibly hardened as he became determined not to show his lack of knowledge of these alien devices. They had a form of broadcasting on Vegeta, only it was entirely computer based. He wasn't sure when to begin, so he waited until he spotted the distant red light that flashed in encouragement.

"Listen up, you pathetic worms," he ordered, derisively, "I am Vegeta, Prince of all Saiyans: your worst nightmare." He paused to allow an ugly smile to spread across his face. "And I have a proposition for you."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Bunny shook her head, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle the gasp. "Oh my!" she exclaimed frantically. "That's not good, not good at all!"

"What's not good!" Bulma bellowed with exasperation as she stormed down the hall, the Dragon Radar in firm grip at her side. What had at first started as a grand and glorious day, had now turned into a potential nightmare. Why her? Why couldn't it have been anybody else? What the hell had she ever done?

Bunny's head whipped in Bulma's direction, and she began to wring her delicate hands in wrought. "Oh, no, Dear! I'm not sure you should see this!"

Ignoring her emphatic suggestion, the young scientest brushed past her mother in aggravation, not sparing her so much as a glance. She stopped in front of the TV, her eyes locking upon the same American News channel she'd been watching earlier when learning of the unpleasant news.

But instead of witnessing the grim, taut reporters whom she expected to be staring back at her, theirs hands folded mannerly upon their desk, a man stood in their place. But not just any man: despite his short height, he made up for it with the nerve wracking, sadistic twinkle in his coal black eyes; a tail slithered deviously behind his armored form.

The Prince.

The _Prince _of all _Saiyans, _was here, right now, on Earth, in America, on TV.

He spoke slowly but effectively, the threatening words spilling out of him, each ringing resonantly in Bulma's ears. _"— 'Bulma Briefs': short; blue hair; scientist. Bring her to me. . . that is . . ."_ In that moment his body seemed to flicker like a wavering flame, and in the next instant he held an innocent reporter. Vegeta's victim writhed in his iron grasp and Bulma couldn't help but gasp, knowing deep down that the man had no chance of surviving. _" . . . unless you wish your entire species obliterated." _And God knows he wasn't lying.

W-wait a minute! Just wait a Goddamn minute! Had he just put her on an international wanted list! She couldn't believe it. First of all, she could almost understand Second or Third Class soldiers coming after her, but the _Prince! _It was simply unheard of! Why would he of all people be here to find a _fugitive slave? _It made no sense.

She had to be dreaming.

"_Oh and believe me," _he continued with a sneer. _"I will track that human down no matter what the circumstances are, until every single town and city on this mudball is **annihilated**, unless you comply with my wish: find her."_

It happened too quickly, too suddenlyfor Bulma to even turn away. She could only gasp as he then made a final action to prove his point, snapping the reporter's neck with but a flick of his wrist. In an instant, the man's struggling efforts ceased along with a sickening crack.

Bulma brought a tremulous hand to her mouth as a wave of nausea washed over her.

The man, who was no doubt a husband— a _father—_ , was now nothing more than a limp doll in the ruthless Prince's grasp, utterly silent . . .

Forever still.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

The essence of winter was in the air, no doubt about it. The breeze which had merely tickled the lovable Saiyan was now vicious and cold.

Goku presently crouched over the creek, his predator eyes diligent as they locked upon a shadow that lurked in the shallow depths of the water. Subconsciously his tongue ran hungrily over his upper lip, and already he could taste the grilled catfish. It was time to savorthe remaining time he had to fish, for he was well aware that the creek would soon be a victim of the ferocious winds, freezing solid.

His hand poised, he allowed a smile that promised victory.

Like lightning his hand was swift as it took firm hold of lunch, and he braced himself for round one. It wriggled vigorously in his hand, splashing water into its enemy's face as its only defense, and Goku only simpered at the challenge.

But just then, he froze, and he remained motionless as the fish escaped easily from his now loosened grasp. Instead of letting his mind dwell on the escape of his meal, Goku turned expectantly to the sky, his lips parted in shock.

There it was again.

That _power._That _mind blowing power_which had jolted him the night before.It would surge through him instantaneously, and dwindle, before roaring again.

Don't get him wrong, of course he'd worried last night, but he'd done his best to ignore the ominous ki that had pricked at his conscience. However, it was now all too obvious that he would no longer be able to do so. It was too powerful, whatever it was, too apparent to keep on pushing carelessly to the back of his mind.

Was it Piccolo? Had he finally acquired that secret, dormant power which he had boasted of to Goku in the recent past?This theory was anything but relieving to Goku. If this was true, and it very well could be, then it was possible that they were all in impending danger: both he and the entire world.

Should he check it out?

The unknown once again nagged at his brain at the stupid question. After all, if it were something to worry about, then it was better to rid of the cancer in its beginning stages instead of allowing it to grow into something unstoppable, right?

Having come to a conclusion, Goku gave a final farewell to the succulent inhabitants of the creek, and sped anxiously back home, nothing more than a blur in his rush.

It wasn't until he bursted through the door, his mouth opening in preparation to make his pronouncement, when he noticed Chichi in her dumbfounded daze, her eyes fixed thoughtlessly upon the TV screen with her mouth agape.

"Goku."

All the fear— every raw emotion compacted into that single word reached out to him like a hard slap. Loyally Goku dashed to his wife's side and resisted the instantaneous urge to gather her in his arms, focusing on following her line of sight. The images that locked daringly with his stare caused the wind to catch in his throat.

Before him buildings crumbled and seemed to dwindle into the ground, raising a billow of dust and debris. The camera shook with movement, allowing Goku to believe that a reporter was actually bold enough to run through the streets toward one of the collapsing skyscrapers. People ran blindly in opposite directions, their screams rising like ghosts and drowning the reporter incoherent words. But suddenly, the focus of the camera swivelled upward toward the night sky, just in time catching a brief glimpse of an air born figure that darted overhead.

Chichi whirled on her husband, but was too slow as he vanished out the door and took flight into the sky. "Goku! You come back here! You can't just leave me, dammit!"

But she knew her cries were unheard, and before she could prevent it, her face was buried in her hands as tears bursted from her frightened eyes. She didn't even know what the hell was happening, and perhaps that was the cause of her tears: sheer confusion.

But there was another reason that she refused to admit, refused to allow surface, and that was the dull fear deep in her stomach that her husband was not coming back.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"Where are you going, Bulma!"

Bunny and Dr. Briefs stood meekly in the doorway, watching as their daughter stuffed item after item forcefully into the duffle-bag.

Bulma's hair was like a curtain, veiling her malicious expression as she spoke through gritted teeth. "I have to go to America! Where Prince Vegeta is!"

"B-but, Dear—,"

"You saw him!" In a flurry of emotion, Bulma spun to glare at her parents, reluctantly revealing her tear brimmed eyes. "You saw how they posted me up like I'm some kind of wanted criminal or something! Everyone will be looking for me anyway! The longer I hide, the more innocent people will be slaughtered!"

Bunny blinked back tears of fret, her lips quivering as she groped for a good reason for her daughter to stay with them. Meanwhile her father stepped forward, his tired eyes flashing with youth's fire. "Bulma! Why endanger yourself! At least take the ship for a more productive purpose: like finding the Dragon Balls with the radar I gave you!"

"I can't!" she shouted back, absently impressed with her daddy's sudden energy. "There's no doubt other Saiyans are scouting areas as we speak! If they were to find me while I was searching for the Dragon Balls—," she paused suddenly, her glower falling upon the carpet as she clamped her jaw to cease the flood of images that played behind her clenched eyelids. She couldn't bring herself to say it. "I-it would only make things riskier."

The determined parents continued their protests as Bulma stormed down the hall, their words belying the way they lagged behind, as though frightened of their own offspring's wrath. Even as she loaded the ship, they shouted to her, listing every reason they possibly could that would convince her to stay; the last thing they wanted was to lose her again.

The entire time, Bulma had remained silent and had let them voice their disagreement, but now she turned on her dad, shocking him as she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. She buried her head in the crook of his neck, and spoke softly in his ear. "I love you both; I'll miss you, and I'll never forget this time I spent with you guys." Following this statement she gave her mom a hug as well, taking in everything she could of them: their homely scent, the outlines and wrinkles in their sullen faces.

Her parents were at a loss for words and watched dumbfounded as she then climbed into the ship, situating herself in the leather seat. Everything was packed; everything was ready to go— except her heart.

As the engine roared, her mother's damp eyes widened as another reason flashed across her brain. She cupped her hands on either side of her mouth to project her voice distinctly over the rumble. "Dear! You don't even know how to fly the ship!"

At this, the witty scientist turned with a toss of her blue locks, a wry smile on her lips as she waved a booklet in plain view. "I have a manual."

And with that she forced herself not to look back as she took flight, knowing and fearing that if she were to look into their eyes even one more time, she wouldn't be able to go through with it— wouldn't be able to leave them.

But she assured herself, that whatever happened to her, the memory of them would always be engraved in her heart and mind—

whatever happened to her.

A/N: I was kinda lazy w/ this chap; sry (stupid exams!). I'm going to NYC again this weekend, but this time it's to visit an old friend. So yeah, I'll update ASAP. **_PLEASE REVIEW!_**


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ

_**The Perfect Flaw**_

_**Chapter XI**_

It wasn't until a couple hours later that Vegeta noticed it on his scouter.

After having successfully made his broadcast, Vegeta had wisely decided to leave the building intact, along with its occupants; he was more than confident he would receive a response to his request in no time. After all, he'd made his point pretty clear, right?

Find the girl; bring her to me; or perish.

Sounded convincing to him.

But after, all there had been to do was wait, as much as he despised that. He figured he'd be patient for the next few hours, and if it resulted in no response, then it would be on to plan B: annihilation.

So leisurely, to get his mind on other things, the Saiyan Prince had then begun an innocent tour through the city to quench his curiosity. And alas, it was his lucky day; he'd found something to eat. He wasn't entirely certain of what it was, but it was damn right delicious. He'd found the tiny food place around a corner of one of the skyscrapers, and almost immediately the aroma had drawn him into its spell.

It had been deserted when he entered of course, but that was all the better for the famished warrior.

So it was in the middle of his meal that the unpleasant interruption flashed across his scouter and he had to keep his jaw from dropping to his chest.

It was the same ki from earlier that evening.

Vegeta stiffened with both anxiety and anticipation as he left the buffet and took flight into the rush of cool, night air. It was incredibly close, what ever it was. It was much too powerful to be human, obviously.

Once again, he wondered if this alien was a guardian of the Dragon Balls, coming to exterminate the threat. At this thought Vegeta only smiled; it would only be to his advantage, the creature coming to him, and he'd be able to rid of the nuisance sooner than planned.

He stopped suddenly when the readings on the tiny screen halted. Slowly his eyes shifted to look out into the darkness, his tail twitching with excitement.

There levitated his opponent, oblivious to his presence. Obscured by both the distance and the blackness, Vegeta could only make out the movement of the alien's head which swivelled in bemusement, as though searching for him.

Vegeta's voice rose loudly and distinctly in the midnight sky. "And who might you be?"

The question was innocent enough, but still Goku's head alertly snapped in the direction of the strangely accented voice, freezing when seeing the air born being off in the distance. He turned almost hesitantly, his fists clenching subconsciously at his sides and a bead of sweat forming on his forehead as its overwhelming power once again pounded his senses. No doubt he was the one. "So you're the one who's been hurting innocent people!"

At this, Vegeta merely blinked, before inclining his head with an almost flattered smirk. "Who wants to know?"

Goku gave an uncharacteristic growl at the being's disgusting sense of humor. Well, it was obvious that this was not Piccolo, and believe it or not, in that moment Goku actually wished it were. At least he had a pretty good prediction of Piccolo's tactics and actions, unlike this man who was a complete stranger; unpredictable, perhaps venomous for all he knew.

Vegeta's brow crinkled. "You didn't answer my question!" he shouted, the innocent curiosity which had initially been embedded in his tone now completely gone. "Who are you and what specific business do you have with me!"

"I'm Goku! And I've come to end your blood bath!"

At this dauntless pronouncement Vegeta couldn't help but give a dry laugh, which echoed hollowly through the crisp atmosphere. "Oh, really?" he asked with a skeptic brow. "And answer me this: just what are you that makes you think you can actually defeat the Saiyan Prince?"

Goku frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Well obviously you're too strong to be human. For a human to have a power level such as yours would be simply unconscionable."

Goku's face remained bewildered. "I am human."

Another cold snicker at the pointless denial. "Hah! Don't make me laugh!"

But just then another movement caught the Prince's keen eyes; a tail that slithered nonchalantly behind the alien's backside.

Once again, it was a rare moment indeed when Vegeta found himself speechlessly shocked. _H-he's a **Saiyan**! But . . . that's **impossible**!_

Now _this, _was inconceivable. Just to make certain it wasn't a dream, he rubbed his eyes fiercely before looking at his opponent again, his jaw going limp when locking with the appendage just as before. It wasn't a dream. This was certainly no human that stood before him; it was a Saiyan.

A Saiyan who was adorned in the most peculiar of wardrobe, far from that of Saiyan armor.

The smile that had once been smug, had now transformed into one that was slightly tremulous with both a tad of nervousness, and overbearing confusion. "So, no wonder your ki is so high," Vegeta stated in genuine amazement, releasing a wry laugh. "You're a Saiyan."

Goku only stilled in response to the accusation. "What's a 'Saiyan'?" he asked timidly. Vegeta's eyes bulged at the question.

_He's kidding, right?_

The royal warrior faltered in his disbelief. "Fool! _You're_ a Saiyan! What the hell is wrong with you!"

Unlike with Chichi, Goku's eyes narrowed at this sudden insult. "Nothing's wrong with me. I don't know what you're talking about."

Unbelievable. He made it sound as though he actually had know clue what he was. Vegeta's eyes widened suddenly, recognition flashing across his brain. Of _course. _Why hadn't he seen it before? He was almost a spitting image of the man.

It was Bardock's son . . . _Kakkarot._

It was inexplicably rare for the disappearance of a Saiyan to occur, and this was most likely the only case that was somewhere in the Prince's mind. Though the recollection was ambiguous, Vegeta found himself replaying the gossip which he heard so long ago, when he was but a child.

Bardock was a well known scientist on Vegeta, and that was another piece which helped bring back the remembrance. Apparently, Kakkarot had been sent on the primary mission shortly after his birth, as most Second and Third Class soldiers were, to purge a planet which the Empire had been eyeing for some time. But something had gone devastatingly wrong, for years later, computers showed that life still existed on the planet. And when soldiers had gone to retrieve the boy and find the cause of his failure, not a trace of him could be found.

Now it could have been very well possible he had perished under the inhabitants' defense, although this had been extremely unlikely, on account of the information that's shown on each planet before it's purged, and that particular one had portrayed a planet of weaklings with laughably low ki; surely no match for a Saiyan.

But now it was all so clear as to what must have happened. Someone, somehow, must have messed with the coordinates, because Earth was not the Planet which Kakkarot had initially been assigned to. It was hard for Vegeta to believe, that someone could ever survive getting close enough to the main computer, but then again, the slave he was seeking out had done the exact same thing, now hadn't she? Obviously, according to these events, there was a lot of work that needed to be done with security and the technology, and it was pivotal. As much as he hated to admit, he would have to have a long discussion with his father once back on Vegeta.

Vegeta scowled in confusion. "Kakkarot! _Dyior ser thtat ere myiar lekşhliægha kie!_" When he received no answer to his question, he gave a low, nervous laugh. "You can't understand me?"

For the love of Namek, Kakkarot had lost his memory! He didn't think it possible, but he guessed one learned something new everyday.

Well, the last thing he wanted to do right now, was fight one of his own kind.

"Look, Kakkarot," Vegeta began with an aggravated sigh, no amusement in his tone any longer, "you, are a Saiyan; one of the all mighty Saiyan Empire; destined to be a great and honorable warrior that will fight and be loyal to your planet.

"I am the Saiyan Prince, Vegeta, destined to one day be your King."

All he got in return was a blank, steady stare. After a moment, Goku dipped his chin to regard the other man with fierce, overshadowed orbs. "I don't know what you're trying to pull, but—,"

"I am not joking, Kakkarot—,"

"Stop calling me that!"

With the momentum of aggression thickening in the air, Vegeta stopped to rake his tense fingers through his upswept locks. There was only one way with which he could Kakkarot to believe him, and he knew it. The Prince remained tense as he slowly began to unravel his tail from his waist, which had been unnoticeable in the darkness. He made sure it swayed dramatically to catch the other Saiyan's attention.

And it did.

Goku's heart skipped a beat when catching the snake like grace of the appendage, and his own bristled suddenly. He refused to. No way. There was no way that he had anything to do with the evil creature's kind. Nothing at all.

But sadly, as he assured himself of this fallacy, the tail continued to oscillate behind the monster's form.

"You were born on Planet Vegeta," The Prince continued, "as was I. You were sent as an infant to a different planet— not Earth— to exterminate the inhabitants which lived there. But it seems someone changed the coordinates and instead sent you here. You then somehow developed amnesia."

Goku hadn't blinked for an entire minute. He stared dumbfounded at the grey cloud that lulled across the night sky, absorbing each word that came from his 'Prince's' mouth.

"Your true name . . ."

Goku's eyes widened.

" . . . is Kakkarot."

"SHUT UP!" he snapped suddenly, unaware of it until he waited another moment. His balled fists trembled in anger. "I don't care if I do have the same blood as you! Where are you going with this!"

Unfazed by the Saiyan temper which he sensed rising within his fellow warrior, Vegeta's tail wound absently around his waist once again. "Come back with me to Vegeta, where you belong. You are a Saiyan warrior; it's time to face your true heritage—,"

"No." The answer was brief, yet pithy. "I don't care who you are." His eyes narrowed. "I am Goku of Earth; I am loyal to this planet only, and I will do anything to protect it from harm, even if I have to rid of the 'Saiyan Prince' to do so."

No one— and he meant _no one--- _would ever have the nerve to talk to him like that, not in a million years. His jaw worked furiously at the flat, bold refusal. "It's either come back with me, or be crushed by me; your pick. I suggest you overlook this once more—,"

"No! Like I said, I will do anything to protect Earth!"

Vegeta couldn't contain it any longer— the anger that burned within him; that this _scum_, that was technically a _Third Class soldier_, considering he was Bardock's offspring, was defying his own Prince! Unaware of it, his shoulders rose and fell with each rapid breath he took, and at the very last moment, before he exploded, he forced his body to relax and a malicious smirk to claim his lips. "Fine," he scoffed. "Either way, I'm not going to allow you to stand in my way. If it's a fight you want, then it's a fight you'll get."

In that instant, the same grey cloud which had caught Goku's attention earlier rolled carelessly along the stars, creating a veil which banished the last of the moonlight. The cool, chilly wind gripped Goku and held him steadfast, even as the other Saiyan's fist came hard into his abdomen. He lurched forward to tighten his muscles against the intruding knuckles, but was too slow for the kick that soon connected solidly with the side of his head; he was sent sprawling against the black sky.

This wasn't good at all. Now that the creature's power was unleashing, it was all too clear to Goku just how powerful this being was; and it was easily three times stronger than he.

He just hoped he could hold out, for now he had a feeling in his gut (or it could have been the repeated blows to the midriff, he couldn't tell) that he wasn't just fighting for himself . . .

but for the entire world.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

It was a damn good thing she'd brought coffee along with her.

It'd been four hours into the trip and already she was feeling the weight of night on her shoulders. To make it worse, she was relying totally on the coordinates in front of her, and she just hoped she was following them correctly.

Sitting in a leather seat in the dark for hours will lead anybody into deep thought, just as it did Bulma.

She'd waited so long to see her parents, to see Earth, and her dream had finally come true. So even if they did take her back to Vegeta, no matter what kind of torture they put her through, she would still be satisfied with her accomplishments; though, that didn't mean she wasn't going to go down without a fight of course. She'd make sure they'd remember "Bulma Briefs".

She wondered if she would be able to see Mark and Kett again, for if she did, oh did she have some story to tell them! She couldn't help but still feel a pang of guilt for not informing Mark of her escape, but she remained planted with her initial tenet that it had been for the best. He'd understand, right?

But perhaps there was a way to evade punishment? Perhaps she could use—

Bulma gasped in realization.

Shit! How could she have forgotten! The invisibility device; she'd totally forgotten to ask her dad about it! Silently she cursed herself, knowing it probably would have come in handy if she'd have fixed it. Dammit.

Oh, well.

She'd think of something.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Goku came to a stand still, his breath coming heavily and his heart pounding in his ears; a bead of sweat glided down the bridge of his nose.

He could feel it: Vegeta's ki was all around him, but dammit he couldn't see him! Goku's eyes darted back and forth, but no matter how hard he tried, the other Saiyan was just too agile.

Vegeta was quite skilled, he'd give him that, but still Goku had greater determination and would not accept defeat in this battle. The Prince's ki blasts were even more outstanding, already a number of them having the potential of burning him alive, had he not blocked them at the last moment; but they had burnt his gi, leaving half of his chest and shoulder exposed and susceptible to harm.

"Looking for me?"

Goku whirled right into his opponent's fist, and cursed as he was thrown back by the blow. Seconds later his eyes clenched and he brought his forearms to shield the ki beam that hissed toward him. But sadly this wasn't enough; still it pushed him down toward Earth, burning his eyes, singeing his skin, and valorously he braced himself as his back collided painfully with the sleek glass of a skyscraper.

Amazingly he was able to hear the shocked screams as his body penetrated the stories of the building and careened mercilessly into the ground outside. When feeling the caustic heat subside to a wisp of smoke, only then did Goku allow his sore arms to collapse tiredly at his sides. He lay with his chin resting on his chest, his glazed eyes turned upward to stare at the blurred figure which hovered in the sky above him. _Too fast. He's . . . too fast._

From above him he heard the haughty laughter of his enemy. "What's the matter, Kakkarot!" Vegeta shouted down at him, his voice chilling and taunting. "What happened to the one who said he was 'going to defeat the Saiyan Prince'!"

Of course Goku didn't bother answering the question; it would have been completely pointless. Instead he let his eyes drift shut as though momentarily forgetting about the demon that loomed over him, the blackness of his mind being his only comfort at the moment.

A subconscious image of Chichi pranced within his mind, her skirts twirling with her grace. _Goku_. Along with her, at her side, waddled their son, his tiny arms extended for balance, his pensive gaze on his feet as he took another prudent step. _Daddy._

"_Goku!"_

Goku's brow crinkled at the sudden voice that infiltrated his thoughts.

"_Goku!"_

"K-king Kai?" he rasped in a hoarse whisper, his concentration wavering between the voice and the image of his son who had now fallen flat on his bottom and begun to howl.

"_Yes, it's me, Goku! What are you doing! Get up! Get up!"_

"I . . . can't. My body . . . feels like lead." The Saiyan gave an ironic laugh.

"Okay, Kakkarot!" came Vegeta's voice, followed by the hum of a forming blast. "Time to end this once and for all! You had your chance, and I'm sad to say you blew it!"

"_Get up! You have to get up!"_

_Daddy._

_Kakkarot._

The shred of tranquility was broken as both Chichi and their son gave an abrupt, shrill cry within his mind when a searing beam of fire enveloped them. The ravenous flames licked at their flesh, and before his eyes he saw as they shriveled into nothingness. And over the roaring fire, he could hear the cruel, maniacal cackle of Vegeta, the Saiyan Prince.

_I can't lose. I just can't._

Overhead, the beam was released, and a sudden wave of something undescribable hit Goku harder than any blow he'd gotten from Vegeta. His eyes snapped open.

In an instant he'd reappeared to face the blinding light, his arms shielded protectively over his head as he ignored the searing pain of his bare skin. He wasn't sure how to describe what was happening— he wasn't even sure he knew exactly what _was_ happeningAll he knew, was that his mind was no longer a sense of tranquil black, but instead, all he saw . . .

was red.

Vegeta's eyes widened as the Saiyan that should have been burnt to a crisp now rocketed toward him, unfazed."What!"Desperately he brought his arms to his chest to brace himself against the incoming hit, but was a fourth of a second too late as a hot fist connected with his jaw and sent him reeling.

He was then barraged by a flurry of furious blows to his stomach, causing him to double over and bite down the agony. This wasn't the power of a Third or Second Class warrior, but of a First, believe it or not. It was unknown to Vegeta just where this sudden surge of power had come from, but as he continued to be pounded upon with fire and anger, he decided absently, that he liked it.

The surface of the river was like concrete as the Prince plummeted head first into the bone chilling water. Almost immediately after the surge of the uprising wave subsided it spewed again as Vegeta bolted high into the sky, completely dry due to the heat of the ki that radiated off his body. With a wicked smile, he brought a gloved wrist to wipe away the single drop of blood which trickled from the corner of his mouth. "Heh. Now that's the Saiyan power I'm looking for." On his scouter read 11,000.

Goku only breathed jaggedly in response.

In the space of a heartbeat Vegeta's form vanished, reappearing in the midst of the city. Like lightning Goku followed, trailing close behind.

It was time to see if this Saiyan was a true warrior.

Unscrupulously Vegeta careened into the ground, and the next instant he was in an underground facility. He'd seen it earlier, yet at the time had not been that interested, but now he found it perfect for this purpose.

Humans screamed and stumbled at his unexpected presence, running blindly in order to get as far away from him as they possibly could. But alas, one girl that caught the Prince's eye was not quick enough as he materialized behind her pretty form, his vice like arms coiling around her body. She whimpered in pain as her bones were slowly crushed.

It was only a matter of moments before Goku arrived, touching ground in the filthy subway. But suddenly, he found the red slowly fading as a sheet of concern and panic blanketed his mind instead, witnessing the innocent woman in the other Saiyan's grasp.

Vegeta's sneer broadened when seeing Kakkarot's face contort into one of utter horror. "What's wrong, Kakkarot? Why aren't you attacking me?"

"Put the girl down, Vegeta," Goku instructed cautiously, afraid of angering his opponent. "She has nothing to do with this."

Vegeta laughed, a low, ugly sound. "No can do, Kakkarot. If you want to get to me, you're going to have to go through her first. A true warrior has to make a sacrifice if he wishes to defeat the enemy."

The girl whimpered again and began to writhe in the powerful grip. Vegeta's arms tightened in response, and he bent closer until his cool lips rested against her ear. "Shh—," he ordered huskily, "just be quiet, now; wouldn't want to have to do harm to that pretty face of yours, would we?" The girl's eyes were large as she gave an emphatic shake of her head. Vegeta smirked. "That's a good girl."

Goku growled discreetly, immediately grabbing the Saiyan's attention. "It's just _one_ human, Kakkarot."

"That doesn't matter, Vegeta!" Goku pressed through gritted teeth. "She doesn't deserve to die! She's completely innocent!"

Vegeta scowled. "That's _Prince _Vegeta to you, you Third Class little worm," he hissed while subconsciously tightening his grip on the girl, causing her to cry out in anguish. His eyes snapped to her. "Quiet! All you insects are the same! I can't take the whining! It drives me insane!" He turned back to Goku, his gaze gleaming with contempt. "As for you, I knew it: you're too soft to be a Saiyan warrior. Even if you had agreed to come back with me, you would have been a disgrace to the entire Empire. You sicken me."

In the next instant, there was a chilling crack, and the girl's limp body was thrown carelessly to the side.

Goku stared with parted lips at the lifeless body, the life he could have saved if he'd been quick enough. When he looked back up, when he saw that look of genuine smug on the monster's face at having done such an evil deed, that's when he snapped.

"_Why you—_." He sped head first into Vegeta's chest armor, ignoring the shower of rubble as he created a new hole in the concrete. He managed to push themselves back up into the sky, before he felt two gloved hands clamped down on his head, and a knee collide painfully with his stomach, forcing him backward.

But being a Saiyan, he was resilient, and immediately shook off the blow to bring his palms together in formation. He crouched low in standard stance and brought them to his side. "Ka— me— . . ."

Vegeta watched in curiosity.

"Ha— me— . . ."

The Prince diligently lowered into a defensive stance, his heart pounding with anticipation.

"HA—!"

In the blink of an eye the blue beam dashed to meet the other Saiyan, but unfortunately for Goku, his luck had run out as Vegeta then thrust out his poised palms, catching the blast in mid-fire.

Now this was no doubt the last of the power Goku had had within him, and it had failed. Just when he thought nothing worse could occur, he let out a gasp as his own blast now backfired, darting toward him faster than he could comprehend.

It hit him square in the chest, engulfing him in its sheer power. He plummeted like a meteor into the ground, causing the earth to quake from impact.

And when the dust cleared, Goku lay motionless.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Unfortunately, Bulma had found her chivalric attitude fading as she landed in New York City. And it didn't help that it looked like a scene of crisis either. Almost every where, buildings lay in ruins, canons fired recklessly, causing to sky to transform into a filthy, repulsive gray.

Deliberately taking her time, Bulma gathered capsules which could come in handy in the future, before timidly taking her first step onto the deserted streets.

It truly was a ghost town, an eerie wind blowing past her, sirens sounding loudly overhead. She presumed the sirens had been meant for these specific circumstances, and that probably by now, the entirety of the city had evacuated long ago.

Or maybe she was wrong.

She stood corrected when sudden howls rose in the air, causing her to jump in surprise. She spun around to see first a man, followed by a mob of people, pointing accusing fingers in her direction while shouting obscenities. "There she is!" "Get her!" "She's the cause for all of this!" "The bitch!" "It's her! She has blue hair!"

Panic flooded through Bulma and blindly she started forward through the empty street, afraid to look back at the roaring mob that chased after her. But their screams must have drawn further attention, for soon she was cut off by a second mob that came out of nowhere from around the corner of a crumbled skyscraper.

Before she knew it, she was surrounded, and was nothing more than an impotent rodent.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Two able bodied men held her arms and dragged her wriggling form along the street, while groups of men and women followed closely behind, continuing their accusations and curses. They acted as though it were her fault for Christ's sake!

_Well in a way it is._

To be perfectly honest, Bulma wasn't exactly certain why she was struggling so ferociously. After all, they were merely taking her to whom she was initially going to seek out. But still, now that she was so close to being captured, so close to once again being a slave, something in her mind told her that she'd been wrong to come there, to give in so easily.

And besides, the grip on her shoulder was starting to get painful.

"Let me go!" she cried without much success. "I know you're trying to take me to the Saiyans, but for th love of God, that's why I came here in the first place! So if you'd just let me go—,"

"Yeah right!"

"No way!"

"I'm sorry, miss Briefs."

At the unexpected apology, Bulma turned her head to regard an old man who appeared to have withered away in spirit long ago. Beneath bushy brows, his eyes were gentle and kind, and a sad frown was plastered on his thin lips. "I know this is surely far from being ethical, but one must make a sacrifice for the safety of the rest of his people."

Another voice spoke up, and no cordiality in this one. "Yeah! It's either you or us!"

A deep sadness fell upon Bulma in that moment, and sullenly she hung her head. She could understand them completely, she probably would have done the same thing after all. But still . . .

Bulma closed her eyes to prevent the single tear from escaping.

"Look! There he is!" "Yeah, that has to be him!" "Finally, he'll leave us alone!"

Bulma's heartbeat quickened when hearing these disrupting exclamations, and her eyes snapped open in alert. However, immediately she found her vision was obscured by two gold tip boots.

The heartbeat stopped altogether, and instinctually, slow as cold honey, she lifted her gaze.

Only then, when she met his cold, black eyes, did she see the sadistic grin that formed on his lips. He looked as though he had just received a beating, his spandex and armor torn, a visible bruise on his neck. Vauntingly he inclined his chin to stare down the bridge of his nose at her helpless form.

"Well, what have we here?"

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

A/N: OMG! I totally forgot it was memorial weekend! How sad is that! I came back Sunday and was like, "omg, I can write all day tomorrow!" Ahem, anyway, finally, the moment you've all been waiting for . . . **_PLEASE REVIEW!! _**Please, for those of you who are reading but not reviewing, **_please review!_** I do accept anonymous reviews!

Question: hey, I wanna change my pen name, but a friend of mine told me that it could risk _losing_ one of my stories or something. Is that true?


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

**To Takuma: **omg, I wouldn't mind at all! That would actually be really really awesome, and I wouldn't know how to make it up to you.

_**The Perfect Flaw**_

_**Chapter XII**_

"That's her, isn't it!"

"Yeah, s-she has blue hair!"

"Please tell us it's not the wrong girl!"

Even as murmurs and complaints grew louder among the crowd, Vegeta's gaze remained fixed on the mortified girl which sank in the men's arms; she stared up at him with look he could only decipher as fear. Her vibrant, blue locks spilled and cast a dark shadow over her large, sapphire orbs, while her delicate lips hung agape.

Oh, that was her alright. And he recognized her, too— from the dining hall. Now that he thought about it, she had been the one who had jarred that oaf, Nappa's attention. And frankly, Vegeta couldn't blame him; she was beautiful.

"Yes, I believe that's her," the Saiyan deemed with a victorious smirk. He reveled when seeing the woman's eyes widen.

A voice amplified from the back of the posse, deliberately staying hidden from view. "So, will you leave us alone, then?"

"My pleasure."

She couldn't believe this was happening; none of it was even processing in her paralyzed mind. Bulma could only gasp as she suddenly felt herself being hefted up into two burly arms, crushed against a rock-hard, heartless chest. Trembling, her neck felt tight as it turned on its own accord, stiffening when coming almost face to face the demon of her nightmares.

Here she was, just centimeters away from one of the most feared beings in the universe besides his father, and Frieza of course. _Am I gonna die? Am I gonna die?_ Along with these frenzied thoughts that raced through her mind, Bulma felt something vile in her spine.

Or perhaps it was the furry, brown appendage that raveled itself intrusively around her waist, closing what little distance had been left between the two of them.

His arm tightened suddenly— almost painfully— and without warning she lost the last of her breath as they took flight high into the sky, a shower of light cascading onto them as they soared above the polluted, grey clouds. Her hair whipped mercilessly about her pained face, and she had to shut her eyes against the burning wind.

But when she did muster the courage to open her eyes, she found herself doing a double take. Before them lay the morning sun that sneaked its way over a distant cloud, bringing with it a myriad of softly toned colors that bled into the night sky. It was a radiant, enrapturing orb, attracting her like a light attracting a moth, and despite the fact that it was truly so far away, it almost seemed that if— that if they were to strive just a little farther and she were to reach out, she'd be able to feel its warm surface beneath her longing fingertips.

It was almost dreamlike— romantic, even.

And yet here she was, witnessing it with the Saiyan Prince, of all people. She would have least liked to have seen it with Mark, or even Kett— but Prince _Vegeta_?

At having thought of him suddenly, Bulma shot him an instinctual glance, and instead of acknowledging her, he kept his hard gaze on the invisible path ahead. Figured. As if he even knew what romantic meant. A creature like him wouldn't know how to appreciate something so ravishing.

The next thing that caught the scientist's eye, however,(and it had been inevitable) was below her.

Vegeta was jarred from his train of thought and grunted as two arms threw themselves frantically around his neck, followed by an ear piercing yelp. He scowled. "I won't drop you." This was nearly rasped from lack of oxygen, though, and therefore did not sound convincing. He tried again, this time snarling as a one time warning. "_Let go_."

And to this, Bulma complied immediately, but couldn't help but give another doubtful glance at the stream of clouds that rushed like the Vegeta rapids beneath them.

As difficult as she knew it would be, there was nothing else to do presently, but trust him. But how could she? For God's sake, she was in this man's _arms_, his _sinful, infamous _arms that could crush her without so much as the slightest effort! The one who had thoughtlessly killed so many— who had destroyed countless families— and merely laughed when recalling it. It was every slave's nightmare to be within conversing distance with him, let alone making _skin_ contact withhim!

The silence prolonged a bit longer, before Bulma gave another glance to her captor. She clung tightly to his torn armor as she projected her voice as distinctly she could over the roaring winds. "Are you taking me back to Vegeta!"

"Not until I take care of some business first."

It took a moment to catch his muffled words, but when she did, her eyes grew large as a new born fear was born in the base of her stomach. Business? What kind of _business_? He wasn't talking about doing something to Earth, was he? Bulma gulped. "W-what kind of business?"

How bold: how dare she ask him of his personal business like so; it was none of her concern. Yet still, as if admired by her foolish bravery, he answered the question simply. "I'm going to find the Dragon Balls." On account of his gaze set straight ahead, Vegeta was unaware of just how the slave's eyes bulged at the horrifying information he'd just given.

She hadn't heard him right. That's all. It was the wind; making it too hard to hear anything.

He hadn't just said _Dragon Balls._

She assured herself firmly within her thoughts, even as other unknown voices screamed at the back of her mind, drowning out all other comfort.

Bulma could feel an overwhelming emotion which she couldn't quite decipher settle heavily in each of her limbs, and no longer could she feel the cool wind against her now completely numb face. Her airways seemed to constrict, as though sending an instinctual barrier to block the subconscious cry that threatened; her eyes were numb as well, no longer burning as they stared carelessly at the sun.

She was shocked beyond feeling— beyond the emotions she should have been feeling at that ironic moment. And desperately she tried to dig for something, for something like fear or rage.

But nothing. Everything was numb— not just her limbs . . .

but _everything_.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

They had thought that once they'd turn the refugee in, they'd be granted with the sense of serenity and relief at having saved their home.

Or what was left of it anyway.

But instead, they unknowingly willed guilt upon themselves after the Saiyan's departure. For the sake of keeping their planet intact, they'd given something of equal value, something that was probably just as innocent as they themselves, that had had a life just like them; and they'd destroyed it.

Now, as they stared with tattered souls and shattered spirits into the sky, all they could do was pray for the girl that had been snatched away like a mouse by a ravenous hawk.

No— like a corpse by a vulture . . .

Because after all, she might as well be dead already.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"Why the hell are you squirming so much, Woman!"

For at least the last few minutes she'd been wriggling in his arms, and frankly it was beginning to get annoying; like an unreachable itch. "I already gave you my word I would not drop you!"

_That's not the problem, you asshole! _she wanted to shout to release some of the overbearing frustration, but wisely she kept her lipssealed. It was hard enough accepting the fact that somehow the Saiyan Prince knew of the Dragon Balls' existence, let alone the fact that she was going to have to think of something quickly if she planned on living in a future universe where there was still a shred of peace. If the Prince were to get his hands on those Dragon Balls, well— hell, she didn't even like the thought of it.

Despite the little worm in his grasp, Vegeta's mind had wandered elsewhere. He'd begun thinking about the future journey that lied ahead of him, of finding the Dragon Balls— with this girl. Hopefully she wouldn't be _too _much of a nuisance. Besides, she was a scientist after all, right? Perhaps he could have her create something for him. Surely the slave who was able to escape her way off the most feared planet in the universe, was far more intelligent than that toad, Kitser. An absent simper touched his lips as he once again praised himself for having mustered the courage to rid of the repulsive creature.

Suddenly, realization hit Vegeta. His grip on Bulma tightened insidiously, jarring her attention. "Certainly you know of them; it's your home planet after all?"

"What?" Bulma blinked stupidly, but soon winced instead as her chest was pressed painfully against the breast plates of his armor.

"You know 'what'!" the Saiyan snapped, eyeing her with deep suspicion; was she hiding something from him? "The Dragon Balls!"

Well duh. A subliminal image of her wearing a dunce hat came into her head, and her face brightened red with embarrassment. She then stuttered at being put on the spot.

That is . . . before an idea shone discreetly in her mind.

"Oh! Uh . . . y-yeah."

Vegeta's brows arched in curiosity. "Then no doubt you'd be able to create a little something that would help in seeking them out?" In spite of the raised tone which in most circumstances would indicate a question of some sort, Bulma could tell by the gleam in his eye that this question was purely rhetorical.

She almost cowered under the intimidating glower, and chose her words carefully. "I already have something," she stated a-matter-of-factly.

"Oh, really?"

A brief flicker of sudden doubt flashed in Bulma's mind, but only momentarily, until she pushed it stubbornly to the back of her mind. "Yes, it's called a Dragon Radar." She did her best to sound purely informative, and to wall out her defying intentions. "And it'll find those Dragon Balls quicker than you can say Vegeta-the-fifty-sixth ten times fast." _What am I doing?_

Though it was not formidable to show one's ecstasy, that's exactly what Vegeta felt inside at this proclamation. But suddenly, this rare jubilance diminished when the hard slap of common sense came across his cheek. Surely, a slave who possessed a fathomless loathing for his kind would not give in to him so easily? His eyes darkened beneath lowered brows. "What's the catch?"

Despite her awkward position, Bulma managed to cross her arms while pensively tapping her jutted chin. At the same time, she allowed a long "hmmmm" to issue from her tightly pursed lips. She snapped her eyes back to Vegeta. "You have to give me your Saiyan vow that you or your men, from this point to when you take me back to Vegeta, will not harm another person on this planet."

"I came alone."

There was an abrupt shift in Bulma's demeanor at this, and her visage became quite comical. "Y-you came alone!" she squeaked. It wasn't disappointment, but genuine surprise that took hold of the captured girl.

Vegeta tore his gaze away briefly, his nose wrinkling as though contemptible thoughts had come into his head. "It's not like I wanted to do this, Woman."

_Then why **did** he?_

"It's none of your concern."

_Okay, then._

After a moment, Bulma valiantly regained the composition she'd been able to hold before the startling news. "Okay, if _you _give me your Saiyan vow that you will not harm another human on this planet, and that we will leave Earth peacefully, then I will give the Dragon Radar to you."

A bitter smile spread across the Prince's lips, and Bulma once again felt a jolt of fear scurry down her spine. "You're in no position to be bargaining with me."

"Look, do you want it or not! I won't give it to you until you agree to my wishes!"

It was evident that this woman was not going to back down, and she wasn't lying. And he was sad to say that she also did not seem the type to be shaken by a simple threat, which he would normally be using in this set of circumstances. So it was only natural for the Prince to answer angrily due to the difficulty of accepting defeat. "Fine," he uttered.

Though she had to strain, she heard it, and it was good enough for her. It was time to continue her plan. "Okay," she began while giving a weary sigh. "The Dragon Radar's in my bag, which is in my ship which was left in that city that you practically obliterated." The last fraction of the sentence had trailed off into a jumble of words which were hissed through clenched teeth., but Vegeta hadn't taken notice.

Instead he glared at her steadily, continuously, and soon it made Bulma a tad uneasy. "It's in your ship?"

"Y-yes." Bulma silently cursed herself at the stammered reply.

There was a tense silence, before the Saiyan once again mumbled: "Fine." And in an instant they were plummeting through the pink clouds in the direction from which they'd come. He seemed even more impatient than before, his mouth a grimace, his eyes and face hardening into an impassive mask, and it made one both wonder and dread just what he was intending on wishing for.

The dankness of the clouds seemed to become more visible as they bolted through the morning air; droplets of moisture materialized on both exposed or clothed skin, and Vegeta could distantly feel the woman's breasts swelling against him as her shirt became nothing more than the thinness of paper that clung to her lush form.

His neck became sticky beneath her palms, his ice cold skin gradually numbing her fingertips; she closed her lids for the fear of having her eyes freeze if keeping them open any longer.

It was difficult to think in the howling wind as they neared closer to city of ruins.

And Bulma just hoped she knew what she was doing.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

A/N: okay, here's the deal, and this is the first time I've done this: I'm looking for at least 9 reviews for this chapter which would put me at 61. Now I know this shouldn't be too hard, seeing as I know there are more than 10 of you out there reading this story. So that would be greatly appreciated. **_PLEASE REVIEW!_**


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

_**The Perfect Flaw**_

_**Chapter XIII**_

Surprisingly, Bulma remained quiet the rest of the way there.

Well, c'mon, what was there to say to a ruthless killer? Really.

However, there was one point in time when she was jerked from her listless gaze, and instinctively her finger lashed out to point at the cause of her sudden shock. Meanwhile, her other hand was ramshackle as it flew to her mouth in disbelief. "Oh, my God," she whispered, her voice trembling with mortified awe. "Goku!"

Meters below her, her friend's body lay seemingly mangled beneath bits of rubble and debris, dreadfully still.

Vegeta hearkened to her cry, looking about the surroundings and using his keen eyes to penetrate the thick fog of dust. He grinned when seeing his dead opponent, as though giving himself a hearty pat on the back. "So you knew Kakkarot, eh, Woman?" he asked slyly while slipping her a sideways glance.

However, it seemed she wasn't listening, for her terrified gaze was still locked upon the corpse. _Kakkarot._

Now that was a Saiyan name. It was no wonder he had seemed so familiar to her at their first acquaintance: he was Bardock's son, the one who had supposedly disappeared. As a slave, she heard many, _many _things; so what other option was there than to just go along and listen to the gossip that seemed travel like an illness through even the lowest of slave ranks?

But that didn't matter. It didn't matter that he was the son of the scientist who was infamous among the slaves on Vegeta. It didn't matter to Bulma that he was a Saiyan— that the same blood that ran through those monsters flowed through his veins as well. All she envisioned when she thought of him was the way his sheepish laughter had echoed richly and genuinely in Chichi's kitchen, and the warm smile that had seemingly been permanent on his lips.

To Bulma— he was human.

In sudden anger, and before she had even meant it, Bulma's head whirled on her captor, her face set in unmistakable rage. "What did you do to Goku!" she bellowed with raw emotion. He merely smiled at the sudden nerve that he had somehow hit.

"You, too, Woman?" he wondered with a sinister smirk. "His name was _Kakkarot_, not _Goku. _But then again, I suppose that Earthling name would suit him quite well, seeing as he was nothing more than a weakling."

Bulma was appalled, and it showed visibly in her expression. "For the love of God! He's one of your own kind! How could you just betray him like that! You son of a bitch!"

The last comment had slipped; it was an accident, she swore of it.

And just like that, the Prince's smile had faded. "He may have had Saiyan blood . . ." his lips contracted to expose gritted teeth. " . . . but not a Saiyan heart. He was foolish enough to stand in my way, and paid the price." He paused to shoot another contemptuous glare behind them at the motionless body, before turning back to the girl entrapped in his arms. "And I suggest you watch your mouth around me, _slave; _I'll let this one slide for now, as a _warning_, but I won't put up with any crap, you hear me? Do you know what happens to slaves like you whose mouths are a tad too big?"

Bulma's eyes had grown large, and tentatively she shook her head. She found herself unable to break away from that intent gaze; it was so frightening, so _manipulative_.

"They have their tongues removed."

The scientist stifled a gasp as grotesque images leaked into her mind. She envisioned a colleague staggering down the hall with his hands clamped fiercely to his chest. A fellow friend rushes to aid him, but when the wounded man opens his mouth to speak, instead a macabre moan escapes from him. In panic he tries again to make a plea, this time unable to repress the mingle of blood and saliva that glides like honey from his lower lip.

Bulma nearly gagged, bringing a hand to brush affectionately against her quivering lips.

She must have lost his interest with her thoughtful silence; he now continued to focus ahead into the impenetrable fog.

They were nearing ever so closer, and the closer they got, the more nervous Bulma became. For in reality, she knew that there actually was no Dragon Radar in her bag; it had been nothing more than a ploy; a way to convince him to take her back to her ship to retrieve a capsule which she'd been careless to have forgotten: her motorbike, probably her only chance, though still extremely slim, of making an escape attempt.

For back home, after she'd announced that it would be too risky to take the Radar along, she had made sure she had left it there.

Now she knew the Prince was going to most likely be furious when he discovered it wasn't there, but that's why she had to make it convincing! Imagine if she had just said, "I have something that will find the Dragon Balls, in my ship.", it would have been too suspicious, for even Prince Vegeta knew the quality of slaves' abhorrence for Saiyans; so why the hell would she have just _given _him the answer on a silver platter? That's right: she had to make a believable bribe.

"Is that it?"

His voice was distant, like an abrupt spasm in her pond of uneasy thoughts. Alarmed she spun her head, her eyes instinctively following the Prince's line of sight and piercing through a weak blotch in the fog. Though there was no need to, Bulma nevertheless squinted, locking upon her undeniable ship.

And Hopefully it hadn't been raided after she'd been kidnapped.

Absentmindedly she heard herself reply, and soon they'd already touched ground and she'd been released from his grip. Almost immediately after he did so, Bulma swung her arms protectively around her shivering form, while her teeth began to shamelessly chatter.

It was freezing!

On pure instinct Bulma's body yearned for the Prince's heat radiating into her once more. And believe it or not, her body came close to doing just that: rushing forward to bask in his warm aura. But with dignity she instead stood in her feeble position, watching as Vegeta stalked forward almost cautiously to her ship.

She waited another moment before practically shuffling up behind him, ignoring the glare he gave her as she brushed past his shoulder.

Vegeta's eyes narrowed dangerously. This girl seemed not at all familiar with the word "respect", and frankly he had a premonition of her death being much sooner than she believed. Perhaps she hadn't realized it, but she had pushed right past him as though she had forgotten he was there! Beyond impudent.

Bulma's form had disappeared within the ship, and Vegeta attempted patience while listening to the rustling of her feet and the sound of her rummaging. As soon as he caught the slightest glimpse of her in the doorway, he lashed out a deft hand and successfully retrieved her duffle bag from her arms.

"Hey!" she cried as the bag was snatched from her. Though she knew there was nothing of further value in it, there was still her diary, and her— erm— _personal _items. So it was only instinctual as she pounced for the bag, only to be stopped by a gloved hand in her face. With but a gentle shove Vegeta sent her sprawling backward, and watched in cruel amusement as she lifted her head off the dirt to regard him with an indignant glare.

He smirked and wagged a finger in ridicule, like a parent to a child. "Now, now," he said gruffly, "you didn't think I was actually going to _trust _you, did you?"

She nearly snarled at his distrust. _If there's anyone here who shouldn't be trusted, it's **you**_, _you monster._

But once again, Bulma was wise to harbor these thoughts within her mind.

And with that, Bulma began gnawing away at her bottom lip; it was all she could do as she dreadfully watched him ferret her belongings, already knowing the result of his search._ Please don't be too angry. Please don't be **too** angry._

The urge was almost overwhelming. what would be the consequence of confessing the truth? Of informing him that it was but a— ruse, a harmless joke? Perhaps a heads up would prevent him from erupting with irrational rage. For it truly was a terrifying thought: him storming toward her, his eyes having lost all rationaleas they burned with hell's fire.

But the point was, she'd gotten what she'd wanted; she gotten the motorbike which had been in the outer pocket of the bag, and had stuffed it stealthily into the inside pocket of her jacket. At least she now knew that even if he did drag her along with him, she'd have at least some chance, no matter how microscopic it was, to, like she said, make an escape.

Bulma's thoughts came to an end; Vegeta had paused, and the scientist winced and turned her head away as she braced herself for his Saiyan roar.

"Well, how 'bout that?"

Puzzled, Bulma reluctantly opened one eye, just enough to see his form as he examined a small object.

"Looks like you're somewhat trustworthy, after all."

When would this horrible luck end?

In his hand, what should have been an empty palm— what should have been clenched in fury at having discovered there was nothing of value in her duffle— held her father's Dragon Radar.

It took a moment before she realized her jaw had dropped and a strange squeak had emitted from within her. Thank God Vegeta didn't notice. Instead he remained where he was; he had already tossed the bag carelessly to the ground and took the Radar by both hands, his digits running curiously and greedily over its sleek, red surface. His eyes seemed to mist as his mind drifted off to fantasize.

His eyes grew even larger when the contraption gave a sudden beep, and coordinates flashed across a grid screen.

Bulma panicked, and feverishly her mind ransacked for a solution to this now potentially fatal situation. However, she found that instead of trying to repair the new born dilemma, her mind was first scrambling for how the hell this could have happened. She had no recollection of putting the Radar in that bag! Although, she had been in a moment of contemptible anger at the time and had been raving ferociously to her parents. Perhaps it was possible she had slipped it in and hadn't noticed.

Or maybe . . . her father had.

The entire time she'd been ridding of her vehemence through incoherent shouts, she had barely taken notice that her father had kept repeating the same thing: "find the Dragon Balls; that'll take care of this mess". Perhaps _he _had inconspicuously slipped it into her duffle bag, hoping she'd find it while in the ship, and change her mind about turning herself in.

But none of that mattered now; there was no use in dwelling on mistakes made in the past.

It was now completely obvious that she was screwed.

"Well, shall we head out, then?" Vegeta asked with mocked geniality; and once again, the question was purely rhetorical.

His adrenaline was pumping with excitement now; he was so close to them, the Dragon Balls! He couldn't wait until they were in his grasp, and he swore his lack of patience would soon be the death of him someday.

So ecstatic he was that he forgot entirely about the fugitive, who by the way still lay immobilized amid the rubble, her gaze turned pleadingly skyward, and sauntered right past her.

Meekly, without moving her lips, the devastated girl answered: "O-of course." But inside, her mind had come to a different conclusion.

What could she do? What could she do? you ask.

There was only one option:

and that was to steal back the Dragon Radar from the Saiyan Prince.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"You Pervert!"

"Yeah! Do you _ever_ take your nose outta those magazines!"

Master Roshii didn't answer as he released another sigh of absent longing from behind the article.

Beside Yamucha Krillin stood with crossed arms, releasing an agitated growl. Ever since that new shipment of "Girls gone Feral" magazines had arrived, it seemed as though their trainer had been literally glued to them; he sat alert in his favorite chair all day, his back straight and every so often giving an abrupt giggle while his face reddened with delight.

Throwing up his hands, Yamucha muttered something obscene before spinning on his heel to disappear into the kitchen. "I give up!" he shouted, immediately returning with a hiss from his opened soda. He then collapsed wearily onto the sofa, his head craning back and his eyes drifting closed. He supposed he could at least use this time to rest. All he and Krillin had been doing was trying hopelessly to draw Roshii from his trance, and finally, after three days, he finally realized that it had been completely pointless. "Sometimes I wonder why I ever came here, ya know that?"

Absently Krillin adjusted his gi, a sarcastic quirk to his lips. "Hah! You know without us or Goku, you'd still be that rundown bandit!"

Yamucha should have been angry with this comment: a _rundown _bandit. Heh, he may have been a bandit, but he'd been anything but _rundown. _Hell, he seemed to remember a flock of beautiful ladies tailing after him one time, unable to take their shimmering eyes off his attractive ruggedness and bad boy- bandit persona. They cried his name with longing, imploring that he stay with them, explaining their necessity for a man with strength and a thirst for danger.

But instead, the retired bandit merely smiled in nostalgia. "Hmmmm. Yeah, and sometimes I regret giving up that life."

Krillin let his arms hang at his sides, and almost sullenly he stared at the back of Yamucha's head, his brow creasing in bemusement. "I just feel like I should be doing something," he drawled. "Not just standin' around like a lazy bum."

"Well, then, come join me, my boy!" Roshii spoke up over the fan, his face actually visible after having been hidden behind the same magazine for days. "There's an article here on midget babes; just your size, if yer interested!"

Krillin's face sagged.

And just as he opened his mouth to retort . . . the telephone rang.

_Ring-------- ring-----------._

Krillin's head snapped to Roshii, who had now continued to indulge in his naughty reading, as though not even hearing the phone.

_Ring-------- ring------------._

Hopefully he then turned to Yamucha's seemingly lifeless form. "You gonna get that?" He waited for a response, but was disappointed when he instead heard a monstrous snore from the sofa.

With a groaned "Fine." he slouched as he made his way into the kitchen, his voice listless as it mumbled into the phone. "Hello? Roshii residence."

A jumble of incoherent words rang sharply into his ear, causing him to draw away with a wince. But he was now alert, and with a bit more effort and concern he tried his best to steady the obvious female that was in hysteria on the other line.

After a moment, and incalculable attempts to calm her down, Krillin was able to recognize the woman as being Chichi. Although her words were spoken more clearly, it was still difficult to comprehend as she did so through an outburst of tears and sobs.

Meanwhile, Yamucha had just prevailed to the climax of his dream, in which a ravishing, curvaceous model had beckoned him into her home, when he was shaken vigorously by the shoulder, and nearly jolted upright in abject terror to the sudden intrusion. Even when awake, his head swivelled in disarray around the room, looking frantically for the succulent blond with whom he'd been lip-locked. Slowly, gradually, Krillin's ample voice became clearer in his clouded thoughts.

"What! What is it!" Yamucha snapped finally. "Just to let you know, I was in the middle of a really, _really _good dream; and you _ruined _it!"

But sadly Yamucha didn't get the mocking comeback that he expected. Instead, he was met with an extremely pale Krillin, his chest heaving with consternation.

"Goku's in trouble."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

_That ki is **phenomenal**._

Though his brow creased slightly with this thought, Piccolo's face remained enigmatical as he levitated above the deafening waterfall. He'd long ago lost his concentration and had therefore broken his meditation, finding he was unable to ignore the enormous power that pounded in his head.

At first he had believed it to be Goku. However, this was until there had been another interjection, one he recognized all too well as being his enemy's. This was good, yet at the same time bad.

Whoever it was, they had the power to eliminate Goku, once and for all. And if they were so powerful that they could do something of the sort without breaking sweat— well, chances didn't appear too good for Piccolo if he were to have a confrontation with the mysterious beingTrue, he had been training, and felt he had finally surpassed Goku in might; but his new powers against a complete stranger? The outcome was simply unknown, and was not one Piccolo was in a hurry to discover.

Also, whoever or whatever it was, it was moving fast; he wasn't certain of where, exactly, but he could _feel _it— _feel _it shifting in his mind. It was too difficult to pinpoint its precise location.

But still, it made him uneasy, knowing that at some point in time he was going to have to confrontthis creature whether he desired so or not— the creature who had already brought down his mortal enemy whom he'd vowed long ago to kill— and he'd done it _easily_, when it had always been such an excruciating effort for the Namekian.

He could only hope his training will have paid off.

Piccolo blinked suddenly, gave his head a slight shake, and pushed the troubling ruminations to the depths of his mind as he once again hearkened to the rush of the waterfall below him.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

A/N: I had writer's block with this chap, and I still do; hopefully it'll go away soon (it's driving me crazy). And I have ONE MORE WEEK! ONE MORE WEEK until school's over! I'm soooo happy! But anyways, **_9 more REVIEWS PLEASE! _**(which would put me at 74). They're much appreciated and give me motivation.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

_**The Perfect Flaw**_

_**Chapter XIV**_

The first Dragon Ball was relatively easy for him to find. However, it was distance that consumed her valuable time.

The first Dragon Ball that seemed closest on the Radar had been across the ocean, in Ireland. Bulma had had a nagging fear in her stomach that the Prince would once again spark pandemonium among the citizens, just as he had in New York, but then recalled with relief the promise she'd forced him to make of not harming another human. She guessed that in a way it had been an advantage of him having unexpectedly found the Radar.

Bulma looked down below them to find a monstrous lake, and she only grew more nervous as something flashed across her brain. With his impatience (not to mention the feral smile on his face at finally having found the location of a Dragon Ball), the Prince looked as though he was about ready to dive head first into that water, with her still locked against his chest. And there was no way in the world her fragile skull was going to be able to sustain such a collision.

So, doing the only thing she was capable of, Bulma began to squirm.

Vegeta's smile twisted into a confused scowl as he whipped around to glare at the woman who was suddenly restless. "What the hell are you doing!"

Bracing her palms against his chest plate she pushed her backward with a look of pure struggle, like a baby communicating through charade; and the answer to this charade was: "I want down." Bulma managed to open one of her clenched eyes, enough to give him an awkward glare.

Now if she were on Planet Vegeta, and were in the Palace while doing this, she would have, like any other slave with common sense, dropped her voice to a meek, honorific level; she would have averted her eyes like the subordinate she was, letting him know for certain that she knew her place. For Bulma knew very well that direct eye contact, with an _Elite, _let alone _Royalty,_ could lead to possible death.

But now . . . hell, what did she have to lose?

_Besides my tongue._

"Would you mind putting me down _first, _before you think about diving into that lake?" As Bulma spoke, his glare did not waver. Her chin jutted indignantly. "How about if I put it this way: if you plunge into that water with me as I am, let's just say you'll be coming back up with nothing but a bloody heap in your arms."

At this, the same, feral grin returned. "Forgive me; but I fail to see why that would be a _bad_ thing."

In response, Bulma gave a small "hmph". _Smart ass._

But nevertheless, he must have seen her point, for she then found herself giving a silent sigh when she felt firm ground beneath her deprived feet. And when she turned to look at him, she instead witnessed his distant form as he headed for the lake. In fascination, almost smugly, she watched as he was nothing more than a blur when he plunged, just as she'd predicted, head first into the water, stirring up an immense surge of water.

But what had really held Bulma steadfast in that moment, was pure shock.

Had he just left her without supervision? Alone?

_Does he really trust me? Or is it that he's just too cocky to think I could actually escape from him?_

Most likely the second one.

But still, it gave the stuck up scientist the itch to sprint off in the other directionjust to disobey his implied command to stay put. But dammit, even though she wanted that more than anything presently, she knew she couldn't; she couldn't forget her new mission: to steal that Goddamn Radar! But for God's sake, freedom was right there! It was like dangling a piece of candy over her; this was pure torture!

It was only a couple minutes later, as she sat drumming her fingers amid the luscious grass, having recuperated over her urge to run away over the hills, when she heard the distant rumble. She could feel it as well; it quaked beneath her feet, and soon the only thing of Bulma's that didn't still was her racing heart. Skimming the lake, the human girl had to squint until spotting the cluster of bubbles that had begun to surface. Now curious, she absently stood and continued to watch intently.

It happened so suddenly, she didn't even have time to jump in surprise. She was left awestruck, her mouth agape as she stared skyward to the monster whose shadow now engulfed her entire being— the serpent that seemed to soar into the clouds.

In illusion it seemingly paused in its journey to the sun, leaving Bulma to only continue her entranced study of the creature's sleek, green scales that shimmered with droplets of moisture. Enamored, the corner of her mouth quirked upward.

And in the next instant, that moment of beauty shattered. For without the slightest warning, the monster's frame began to grotesquely expand, it's skin becoming translucent, until a sound unimaginable by human ears ripped through the silence.

The girl dared not move, dared not budge, for she already knew very well of what substance now lathered her body.

All she could do as her immobilized limbs trembled in both rage and shock, was open her mouth to release the second sound which was deafening, even to her own ears.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"No senzu beans!"

Krillin's face contorted into one of complete horror as he stared at Korin with boggled eyes. Even more astounding was how calm the cat remained, his eyes hidden under the bushy, feline brows, his chubby fingers(A/N: paws. Well, you get my point.) laced nonchalantly behind his back. Did he not understand the danger of their situation!

At least Yamucha shared in his shock.

"What the hell happened to them!" he yelled, his hands grabbing his unruly locks in panic.

Korin brought a paw politely to his mouth and gave an awkward cough, ignoring how Yajirobe began to inch backward. "Well, a certain _someone _happened to eat them."

Automatically, both Krillin and Yamucha reeled on the only possible culprit.

Yajirobe froze when angry eyes fell upon him. "Well, it's not _my _fault!" he snapped in self defense, his face subconsciously reddening. He began to pant under the pressure. "T-there was nothing to eat, a-and I didn't think anyone was gonna actually _need _them!"

When the unsettling glares did not recede, Yajirobe continued to back away. "Back off; I've gotta sword!"

Krillin gave an exasperated sigh and turned back to Korin, his fingers coming up to massage his throbbing temples. What was he gonna do? What was he gonna do! For all he knew, Goku could be dead already! But if not, he would have brought him a senzu bean to purge his wounds. What if his best friend _was_ on the brink of death as they spoke? He couldn't just wait around for him to be murdered by whatever was attacking him.

With difficulty,Krillin managed to control his voice over the growing anxiety. "Well, t-that's okay, that's okay. Uh— when can you make more?"

Korin's mustache twitched as an ominous silence fell upon them. And with each second that wasted away, so did Krillin's success of hiding his worry, for he feared for the answer.

"Well!" Yamucha snapped, the suspense tearing at him mercilessly.

"Two days."

Those two words were all it took for Krillin's brave visage to shatter altogether. "T-two days!" he squeaked. "Who knows what will have happened to Goku by then!"

"Well, I'm sorry, but there's nothin' I can do."

Both Yamucha and Krillin's jaws clamped down ferociously while they averted their eyes elsewhere in an attempt to recollect themselves. Could their friend really wait two entire days?

But who knew? Perhaps Goku had won; perhaps it had just been a long battle; perhaps they were worrying over nothing.

Or just maybe Krillin's premonition was correct, and maybe the strongest warrior on the planet _was_ on the brink of death at that very moment.

Solemnly the short one's head turned upward, and he prayed rapidly under his breath: "Please, Goku, wherever you are, just— hold on a little longer . . . please."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

He wasn't sure exactly what woke him. Perhaps the fetid stench that loitered thickly in the air; or the mere breeze that blew affectionately over his stinging skin.

Well whatever it was, he was grateful for it as it stirred him from his sleep. Slowly, as though weighted down by some unknown force, his eyelids fluttered open with blurred vision, and he couldn't help but winced against the sun.

But soon, his view became clear, and it was not something anyone would have wanted to wake up to.

Destruction. Utter destruction surrounded him--- consumed him. He witnessed through a gray haze the jagged, oblique remains of what were once successful skyscrapers; the dull, orange flicker that shone off in the distance as fires plagued numerous areas of the devastated city; with each breath he took, the same putrid smoke which contained the smell of both flames and corpses invaded his once pure lungs.

How long? How long could he have been out for all of this to happen?

His vision began to blur again, only this time it was with tears. Tears from either the burning of his eyes from the scorching heat, or tears from sadness that he had done nothing to prevent this, he didn't know.

With instinctual hope, the kind only a rodent has when cornered, Goku winced as he forced his head to loll the side. But nothing. He was met with the same thing.

What about Chichi? And the others? How were they dealing?

Hopefully that monster hadn't had enough time to make his way to them, for who would protect them? He was their only savior, and he wasn't just saying that to be arrogant. Even Piccolo wouldn't have been a match for that being, and maybe he in all his stubbornness was aware of it, too.

He just . . . couldn't bare to think of anything happening to Chichi. He couldn't bare the thought of her blood being spilled, God dammit!

He had to get up. If she was in danger, he couldn't let a few minor wounds stand in his way of protecting her and their son.

Concentrating on every muscle, every fiber of his being, the determined warrior willed himself a few centimeters from the ground, before another jolt of agony flashed through him, pushing him back down with a pained cry. _Okay, _he thought wryly, something warm pooling in his mouth, _maybe they are a little more than **minor** wounds._

Minor! Hah! He couldn't even move!

_Crack!_

Goku's tail tensed at the sudden sound and before he could prevent it, his head snapped to the opposite side, causing another grunt to issue from his opened lips. And with that shout of torment, he felt as the substance which had been entrapped now splattered out onto the concrete before him, leaving a trail that trickled down his dirt caked chin.

He heard a meek gasp, and soon remembering the cause of his alarm his eyes snapped open.

He was surprised to find himself staring into two azure orbs, unbelievably large in their fright.

A little girl.

She stared back at him, petrified, her once golden locks flat and tinted brown from the dust and smoke, her dress torn and ragged as it clung like a toga to her sweaty, filthy skin. Her arm was outstretched, reaching for the broken china doll that lay just inches away from him.

Discreetly her gaze shifted to the tail that twitched beneath what she had thought to be a lifeless man. _H-he's one of them._ She caught her breath before turning rapidly back to meet his black eyes, her lip quivering as she spoke. "P-please, sir," she whispered, continuing to inch toward her doll in desperation, "don't hurt me . . . please."

It took Goku a moment to realize the cause of her fear. And when it hit him, he swore with bitterness that if he were to survive through all of this, he would make sure to rid of the one thing he was now so ashamed of.

"I would . . ." Goku wheezed, " . . . never hurt you."

Chubby fingers now wrapped weakly around her possession, the girl stopped to look at him in bemusement. Goku waited for her to say something, but she remained silent— staring at him, studying him for something.

Almost uncomfortable, Goku looked curiously to the doll, his chest heaving. "That . . . yours?"

She blinked and turned to the toy in her arms, temporarily forgetting about whom she was talking to as she began her boasting. "Yeah, my mommy gave it to me for my birthday. Her name's Jennifer, and I'm Samantha."

Goku smiled, hardly aware that one of his eyelids was now obsolete and had shut to rest. "Those are . . . pretty names."

A tense silence followed, and the girl once more took a sharp intake of dust and debris, oblivious to how toxic it was to her youthful lungs.

He could tell she was nervous; he could see it in her eyes, the way she twirled her finger around one of the doll's burnt locks. And he wanted to say something, to assure her that she had nothing to fear from him. But his throat constricted, and no sound came when he parted his cracked lips to speak.

So instead he watched as she turned on her heel and sprinted off without another word,

her tiny form, like his last shred of hope, fading into the smoke.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

This was about the fourth sigh she'd given, and now they were nothing but subconscious.

Bulma didn't care that her clothes would get dirty; all she was savoring at the moment was the warmth of the sand and dirt beneath her prone form. She lay leisurely on her stomach, her chin resting upon her folded arms as she stared at her reflection with half-masted eyes. It truly was amazing; she really hadn't thought it possible: that absolute silence— absolute stillness actually existed. How was it that something could be so still, it was as if time itself had frozen?

The water in the oasis was just that, and it almost felt as though she were studying herself in a mirror. And that was another main reason she hadn't moved from her spot: it seemed wanton— _sinful— _to disrupt such beauty.

As she lay in boredom, her mind began to drift off into reveries of she and only other human she'd ever_ truly _known: _Mark,_ she thought with a depressed sigh, watching in the reflection as a few stray strands of blue hair spilled in front of her forehead.

She guessed she had taken him for granted; after all, he had been the only _male _that she had ever had an attraction with, and she'd left him without so much as a good bye. If she ever lived to see his handsome face again, she vowed to make it up to him somehow, someway.

Another frame was almost catlike in stealth as they appeared to tower over her, and Bulma whirled onto her back with her heart pounding. She met the cool, amused smirk of the Saiyan Prince.

Taking in her chest heaving, prone position, Vegeta's nose crinkled as he chuckled low in his throat. "Do I frighten you, Woman?"

Though her fear did not dissipate, she pushed it down indignantly and allowed her lips to press into a straight line, and her fine brows lowered in defense. "N-no!" she stammered, climbing to her feet to rid of the dust which had collected on her jacket. "You just surprised me, that's all!"

Vegeta stalked past her. "Oh, really?"

Bulma grumbled under her breath, not accepting defeat lightly. However, she halted in her raving to eye the small, sixth star Dragon Ball which he now held in his left hand, the Radar in his other. "Where'd you find it?"

Vegeta blinked at the question, amazed by how quickly the girl's mood had changed. Haughtily he tossed the Ball into the air a few times, eyeing it with affection. "Heh. Found it housed within the belly of quite a large snake." He caught the Ball suddenly and held it steady as he turned to Bulma, snickering when seeing her grimace of disgust.

This was not good. Already it'd been one day, and he'd gotten hold of _two _of theDragon Balls. At this rate, he was bound to have caught them all before she even had a chance to steal back the Radar.

She had to convince him to call it a day; it was really the only chance she had.

With new determination the scientist forced her eyes to droop, and her form to slouch. "Can we just call it a day now, please?"

Amusement was gone as Vegeta snapped to her in disapproval. "What? Why?"

_What does he mean, "**Why**?" _Bulma's glare hardened. "Because I'm tired!"

Vegeta remained obstinate.

"Think about it," the girl whined, bringing her balled fists to her chest in melodrama, "do you really want me to slow you down from fatigue?"

Nothing.

"I just want some sleep! That's all I ask—,"

"Okay! Okay!" the Saiyan blurted suddenly, this time the one who had to face defeat. "Good Gods, I can't stand your high-pitched whining! If it'll shut you up."

"Oh, it will! It will!" Bulma pranced with glee.

Vegeta gave a small "hmph" before turning back to the Dragon Ball in his palm. Just looking at those captivating stars made his blood begin to rush with anticipation. What would happen when he granted his wish? What task would he see to first? He supposed he could first take his rightful throne as King, which would mean ridding of his father. Or perhaps send that impudent, stuck up lizard, Frieza, into black oblivion where he belonged. Vegeta gave a sudden, dry laugh. Well, there was no rush; after all, he was going to have the rest of eternity to conquer the universe at whatever pace he desired.

The soon-to-be-ruler lost his train of thought as a familiar voice reached his ears.

"Okay," the woman drawled as she gave an enormous yawn. "But before I go to bed, I think I'm gonna have to take another bath."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

A/N: sry for the wait, and on this chap I had some MAJOR writer's block. And it's weird cuz I only had it on _this _story. On my other B/V, I'm doin' just fine, so I found that very odd. Well, anywho, I think y'all know the routine by now, right? **_9 REVIEWS PLEASE!_** (85)

**To Kimee/Newsoleil(anonymous reviewer): **hey, hast du meine Email bekommen! Ich habe dir eine Email geshickt, aber weiß nicht ob du sie bekommen hast. Sag mir bitte! Mein Postfach funktioniert nicht sehr gut.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

_**The Perfect Flaw**_

_**Chapter XV**_

Comforted only by the whistle of the breeze, Goku lay still, his eyes shut to elude the stinging the heat.

It was becoming harder to breathe; like persistent, omnipotent hands crushing his chest. With each inhale he took, the hands refused to allow his rib-cage to expand.

"Chi . . . chi," he rasped.

A slight shuffling reached his ears, and attentively he paused in his wheezing to turn his head.

It was the little girl again.

She stood just as shyly as she had before, her head lowered, her saddened gaze downcast. Only this time, instead of clutching to the china doll, something purple lay in her feeble hands.

Goku laughed (or at least tried to). "Hey . . . Saman . . . tha."

When hearing her name the girl lifted her stare, started forward, and then came to her knees beside the dying warrior. "Here," she said, her voice soft and broken. Prudently she leaned forward and braced a cold hand beneath Goku's head, lifting it up gingerly until she heard the grunt of pain. With her other hand she then held the purple glass to his cracked lips.

They reacted immediately, his lips, taking in the cool liquid in larger amounts than they could manage due to their greed. Goku ignored the cold sensation as it gushed down his chin, rushed down his neck— it actually felt quite refreshing; all he cared about at the moment was getting as much as possible down his parched throat.

He stopped and drew away though suddenly, heaving in frenzied breaths with a suspicion that he'd accidentally _inhaled_ the water. Just in case, he went into a fit of coughing.

Samantha watched in silence, patiently waiting, seemingly unfazed by the drops of blood that spewed from his lips. Then she averted her eyes to look down at the cup that she now twiddled with in her lap.

When certain he was done, Goku leaned his head back with a painful _thud. _He turned toward Samantha with a lopsided smile, visible streaks on his chin from where the water had streamed. With effort: "Thanks."

The girl's chin lowered, and the look she gave him almost led Goku to believe she hadn't understood him.

"Uh . . . where are . . . your parents?"

And unexpectedly, her face transfigured as a cherubic smile stretched her chubby cheeks. "Daddy left to help some people a while ago; he promised me he'd be back, and Mommy's still sleeping."

Something undescribable churned in Goku's stomach as he took in that smile. For _he_ knew why Daddy had not yet returned to comfort his daughter, and why Mommy was sleeping. And It just hurt so much, her naivety, that Goku felt a vague urge to gather the waif into his arms had he the strength to move.

Then something else occurred to the fallen warrior. What reason did she have for helping him, if she believed him to be one of the monsters who did this horrible deed? Sure, he'd assured her that he wouldn't harm her, but they were just words. Meaningless words that no doubt the Saiyans would use to hide their true intentions.

So . . . "Why did you . . .?"

The smile faded, and she looked away again. She appeared pensive, as though her small mind was trying to grasp at a memory. After a minute: "Mommy told me that in the Bible, Jesus says that I have to forgive others in order to be forgiven."

Goku merely blinked.

Her soft eyes hardened, her grin returned. "No matter what."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

_What am I doing?_

Now this didn't seem as such a good idea as it had just a few minutes ago. Back in Ireland, after having had the unpleasant experience of being covered in serpent goo, of course Bulma had jumped into a different lake which they passed later to briefly cleanse herself, with _her clothes on_. But she had faced the truth with reluctance, that that had not done away with the excess filth that still caked her bare skin.

But the question was, could she trust Prince Vegeta?

_Really, Bulma, _she told herself with a scoff, _I'm sure an **honorable **warrior such as him wouldn't do anything so naughty._

_Hah! _her conscience snickered back_. Since when have any of those Saiyans proved themselves **honorable**? Besides, the man and his father have a Harem! I mean, if you're really gonna do this, then why not just up a sign now saying: I'm all yours for the taking! Heh, I bet he's watching you right now._

Bulma threw a quick glance over her shoulder with a hint of suspicion--- just in case.

Nothing.

Feverishly she turned back to the shimmering water of the oasis, whimpering with itching temptation. _But I mean, if he **was**_ _lusting after me, he would've made a move by now, right?_

_Perhaps. Or maybe he's just waiting for the right time to pounce on his prey._

She exhaled, hard, like a vexed bull, mustering up her courage and pushing away the disturbing voice in her mind. After a moment of gathering her frustration under control, she hesitantly began to shed her clothing.

Her shirt came over her head painfully slow, and something dreadful flashed across her brain that told he was going to be there, feeding off her body with those haunting eyes.

But alas, as the blouse fell to the ground, Bulma was met with nothing more than the black water of the oasis.

Her pants came next, and then her boots, and soon the only thing that shielded the girl from leering eyes was the blanket of night that had fallen upon the entire valley. She stood still for another moment, feeling utterly vulnerable, susceptible to the dangers of this foreign place.

She shivered when taking the first step, a wave of pleasurable sensations shooting up her spine.

But something gripped her suddenly, and Bulma instantly tensed. Her neck was stiff like a rusty joint as it cautiously turned, her eyes searching once more for any sign of someone watching her. Still, nothing.

_That's it! _Bulma confirmed. In one harsh movement she plopped down into the water with a splash, pouting to signify her determination. _I wanted a bath, and God dammit, I'm gonna **have **a bath!_

It wasn't long until silence again prevailed. Though unfortunately, due to Bulma's persistent worry of a peeping tom, she found it difficult to just lay back and enjoy it as she had initiallyhoped to. Actually, after a few moments, the silence even became unnerving in a way—_ too_ quiet.

And suddenly, she heaved a sigh as it all dawned on her.

This is not at all how she had imagined her visit on Earth. Where had she gone wrong? Had it been a flaw in her plan?

In a twisted way, she truly wished it had been her fault— a glitch in her devise— so that there would still be some sense of hope that remained in her mind. For if it was a mistake which she'd made, then, all that meant was that she could repair it and try again. Because after all, one learns from their mistakes, right?

But it was cold reality and the truth was that there were no mistakes. The only mistake she had made was attempting an escape in the first place. She had no longer had the strength or the endurance to fight off her inner rebellion, and had instead let it conquer over her.

A rustling brought Bulma back to the real world, and in panic she spun around with her eyes wide and alert.

She expected (and it wasn't her ego) that it was Vegeta who would be the source of the noise, but she was dead wrong as she found herself staring into the gleaming depths of an entirely different predator.

A gigantic feline. Bulma was vaguely aware that it resembled the prömen back on Vegeta; the two creatures' features overall were quite similar, only the one on Vegeta beat this one at least a thousand pounds in average size. But nevertheless it was terrifying, the way it stared at her so intently. Almost hungrily.

But something was strangely diffident about it, the way it repeatedly started forward with the intent of attacking her, but then would back away with obvious hesitance. Bulma concluded that it was the fact that she was in the middle of an oasis that held it back.

But still she remained unmoving and unblinking, as though afraid to miss its slightest move. And as though swearing to avenge its frustration, the cat bowed its head with a low rumble, its slanted eyes focused on its prey. Its smooth coat was radiant from the moonlight's gentle kiss.

And then it paused suddenly and lifted its head to sniff the air. It gave another rumble as it turned momentarily away from the girl, its famished eyes falling upon the pile of clothes that lay in the sand. Bulma gasped in horror and instantly paled.

_M-my sandwich,_ she gulped. _My **capsules**!_

It dipped its head even lower for better access to the jacket pockets, nudging each with its keen nose.

All thought vanished as Bulma sprung to her feet, a feral growl emitting from her throat as her lips peeled back over grinding teeth. "Don't even think about it, Kitty!" she warned maliciously.

With remarkable speed she managed to wade her way through the resistant water that lapped against her ankles, halting just before the beast. "Don't you dare!" Her hands lashed out protectively just as the creature enclosed its jaws on a bundle of the cloth, and the two were left with a tug-of-war.

Bulma yanked viciously on what was hers, yet at the same time was wary of the already torn material. Like a wolf in the night she threw her head back and howled with desperation and rage.

"Damn Woman!" she heard from off in distance, and something in her froze.

She stilled, dumbfounded, as the Prince landed at the scene in alarm, his eyes freezing on what lay before him: the woman in the act of fighting with a wild animal over her clothes . .

completely naked. Instinctually his eyes swept over her for the slightest second, taking in her curvaceous frame that glistened surreally beneath the moon.

Bulma's eyes bulged as she registered what was happening. Forgetting entirely about what she had been fighting over in the first place, she let go and threw her arms around herself as she submerged under water.However her head emerged almost immediately, the main problem swimming back to her. She screeched while pointing to the escaping feline, vigorous in her effort to draw the Prince from his daze. "My clothes! Ahh! It has my favorite outfit!"

With a small shake of his head Vegeta snapped out of it, turning to the creature who was now absconding through the darkness like a shadow with the woman's attire dangling from its mouth. _Heh, no effort's needed for this matter, _Vegeta thought, extending a palm haughtily.

And then he tensed; his brow twitched slightly in thought. Was it really necessary, a palm-blast? After a moment, Vegeta shook his head again at the image. No, much too messy. No doubt the miniature prömen would blow into bits from such impact, resulting into in an even filthier outfit. The woman would most certainly be displeased, and the Saiyan wasn't sure how much more of her whining he could tolerate before he blew her into the next dimension.

Coming to a conclusion as the woman gave another shrill cry, all but his index rolled into a fist. Light gathered to a pinpoint at the fingertip, and just as the cat's head turned to the outlandish hiss of ki, it had no time to react as it was thrown brutally from its feet.

Bulma's eyes became owlish as she took in what had just happened. _So **powerful**_, she thought in awe. Her brow creased as she struggled to recall even _seeing _the blast being released; it had been so inconceivably fast. Imagine what he could do to _her _if she tried to escape. Even with her motorbike, she probably wouldn't be able to get more than a few yards away before she was toast, literally.

She started when seeing her clothes thrown to sand, where they had initially been. Vegeta stared down at her without expression. "Hurry up and get dressed," he ordered curtly, "before you attract any more wild beasts with that banshee like scream of yours."

Bulma could have retorted, but she didn't feel up to it, not after what she had just seen. That brief display of power had been a rude reminder of just whom exactly she was dealing with, and suddenly, Bulma once again felt like a complete subordinate. And what was going to happen, now? Now that one of owners of the Harem had seen her naked? Bulma's cheeks flamed red and she gave an audible gulp. They were out in the middle of nowhere, where no one would be able to hear her screams or just merely wouldn't care. If he was getting any ideas, then she doubted there was much she could do to stop his three hundred or four hundred pounds of solid muscle.

But instead Bulma remained silent, blinking in confusion as he merely turned and walked away without another word.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"What's happened to you back there!" Yamucha called out behind him, where it had become deathly silent.

Krillin hollered back, panting slightly. "Gimme a break here! We've been flying for hours!" It was difficult to fly such distance without expending every last bit of ki. "How can you _not_ be tired!"

Yamucha shrugged, smugly. "Guess that old geezer's training really has paid off—," he turned to regard his bald friend with a smirk— "for some of us anyway. Right, Puar?"

"Right," the feline chirped.

From behind Krillin muttered to himself. _How is it that I get tired before Puar does? This sucks! Why did he come along anyway?_

A subliminal flashback played in Krillin's mind:

"_Oh, can I go? PleasepleasepleasePLEASE? You have to let me go, Yamucha. What if you guys get in trouble; I want to be there to back my best friends up!" Puar pleaded, his tone wheedling._

_Yamucha smiled in surrender. "Fine, why not?"_

Krillin's brows twitched and came together angrily at the memory. _Oh, yeah._

"Hey, is that him down there?"

Krillin turned to look below, and he quickly discarded of his anger when seeing his best friend's body lying in the midst of the fog.

A bead of sweat broke out on Yamucha's brow. "That c-can't be him . . . the power level is shockingly low," his voice wavered slightly. "Almost gone."

Something clutched tightly at Krillin's innards, and without warning he sped down with sudden energy, meandering through the jagged buildings and columns and ignoring his comrades' shouts from behind him. "GOKU!"

He came to a stand still and hovered over the battered body. Goku's eyes did not open to his presence, causing his entire being to quiver with disbelief and silent rage for whatever did this.

He leaned down to get a better examination of Goku's flesh wounds, just as Yamucha and puar touched ground behind— but he paid no attention to them. He would not let Goku die. Determined he dug his fingers into the skin of both of the Saiyan's bare, sweat-  
lathered shoulders and shook vigorously, only growing more vicious when he didn't get a response. Finally he reared back with one hand hefting the body up by the torn gi, the other darting forward across his swollen cheek.

And that did it. Goku stirred, one eye fluttering open. He simpered when seeing the familiar orange gi. "Krillin . . ." he said, "glad you . . . could make it." He then noticed the others, his eye drifting shut once more and his voice trailing off. "Yamucha. Puar. How the heck . . . are . . . you . . . guys . . ."

"What did that monster do to you, Goku?" Krillin whispered, fatalistically, his eyes burning with angry tears.

Yamucha's voice spoke up suddenly, somewhat relieved. "I don't sense any other immense kis around here, so it looks like we lucked out."

"Good," said Krillin. He gave a brief glance over shoulder before turning back to Goku, who was now completely unconscious, his expression becoming firm in conclusion. "Then first thing's first:—," with a grunt he hefted the massive body over his shoulder— "we gotta get Goku back to Chichi's; as soon as possible."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"You're telling me," Vegeta drawled with a rapidly growing temper, "that you'd rather have that puny thing than this?"

Taking another bite from her sandwich, Bulma continued to evade direct eye contact with the Saiyan Prince. He looked at her expectantly with his notorious glare, but found it useless when she couldn't even see him. Meaningfully he shook the hunk of meat in his hand while intensifying his glower. "Look, I even _cooked_ it for your sake so you wouldn't starve!" he spat, feeling strangely unappreciated for his rare show of geniality. He thrust it out to her again for emphasis. "Now you're going to eat it whether you like it or not!"

Vegeta growled ferally as she looked up, her eyes large as she took hold of the sandwich with both hands, as though to protect it. "B-but I don't want any of it!" she squealed. "You can't seriously _make_ me eat that! All I want is my sandwich!"

Vegeta fumed at her impudence, making sure all of his teeth were exposed. "Then you should have told me before I started cooking the damn thing!" he snarled. "I wouldn't have cooked it if you hadn't wanted any!"

Bulma was silent, studying him. Then she drew even further into herself, her eyes taking on a pleading effect.

The Saiyan saw this sudden change in tactics, and with a snarl leaned back against his rock, grumbling rapidly under his breath. To rid of his aggression he sank his teeth savagely into the leg of the cooked feline, tearing mercilessly at the skin as though it were his greatest enemy.

In reality, Bulma knew that he actually hadn't done it for _her _sake. He'd just done it to keep her alive until they arrived back on Vegeta, and frankly she thought this only typical of a Saiyan Prince. He could care less for a slave, she guessed.

She threw another quick glance in his direction, clandestinely, watching as he took in another animalistic mouthful.

Once finishing her sandwich in silence, she heaved a contented sigh while turning away from the Saiyan to lie on her side. "I'm gonna go to sleep," she said faintly over the crackling fire, "'kay?"

Vegeta didn't respond. However, he did pause in the middle of his feast to eye the fugitive with mild askance. Something puzzled him slightly, but he didn't know what.

But after a while it faded as her form seemed to lean out, her shoulders relaxing. And finally, her side visibly rose and fell every few seconds with her serene, even breaths, signaling her departure to the Land of Nod.

Vegeta sighed, before his eyes shifted to the woman's bag that lay a few inches beside him. He frowned as he fought the growing curiosity. Recollection of having seen a book of some sort during his earlier raid of her belongings came back to him, something he'd given absent interest toward but had been concentrating on finding only the Radar at the time. But now . . . she was asleep. Surely she'd never know, and even if she did, what could she possibly do to stop him?

Giving in to temptation the devious Saiyan leaned toward the bag, carefully, being cautious of sleeping girl. His gloved fingers crept with such skill into the opening, one would think he was nothing more than an experienced thief. He brought the book to settle in his lap.

Eyes hungry, he skimmed quickly over the contents, a bit disappointed with what he was seeing. Oddly enough, he'd been expecting formulas— elaborate, scientific devises; she was a scientist, right? Instead it seemed nothing more than a mere journal, containing passages about every day events in the Science Wing. _Hn, I should have foreseen this, _he thought bitterly, _that a slave would have nothing better to write about._

But suddenly, something caused his eye to come to a halt. Had he just seen _the Prince_? He scrambled for the page, subconsciously leaning closer to the book as he began his perusal of the particular entry:

_Geldin 26, 451 a.d._

_Dear Diary,_

_I'm ashamed of myself. I accidentally went down the wrong Wing today and stumbled upon the Prince's spar match_. _I came so close to getting caught, my heart's still racing. And even worse than that . . . I started** staring** at him. You know, **staring** at him._

_I'm so stupid sometimes._

_Good news is that I was asked to go to dinner with Mark. I just hope it turns out to go smoothly._

Incredulous, Vegeta's chin barely inclined as he looked to the woman as though she were the most frightening thing in the universe.

_**Staring **at me? What the **hell **is that supposed to mean?_

According to what he had just read, it seemed the woman was the one to watch out forwhen bathing. Bitterly he recalled how she'd feared him peeping on her, her small body shaking with her emphasized orders to stay away which she hadhissed through her teeth.

So, she was a hypocrite, was she?

The human made a small noise before stirring, and Vegeta felt a rare wave of panic rush through his limbs as he nearly toppled over in an attempt to return the book to the bag. He made it just in time; her entire body shifted so that it was now facing him.

_That was too close, you fool, _he snapped to himself as he sat to the fire once more, hoping she wouldn't notice his rapid breathing. Nonchalant he drew up a knee and rested an arm atop it as cover up.

Her eyes were dragged down by dark bags, the fire's light doing its best to restore that vivacious gleam that had shone in them earlier, only to fail miserably. It was difficult to tell whether or not it was weariness or sadness that made her eyes seem so . . . lifeless. She made another of those subtle, tiresome sounds, shifting slightly. "Hey," she said softly.

Vegeta arched a brow at her casualty.

"Can I ask you a question?"

There was an incoherent grumble from Vegeta as he turned away in response, and Bulma took it as permission to continue. "W-what's gonna happen to me?" Something was strangely unnatural about her tone— inflection less— broken. Whatever it was, it grabbed Vegeta's attention. "When we get back to Planet Vegeta, I mean?"

He took a moment to absorb the question. Smiling, he turned his head a bit more, provoking her gaze to meet his. "Well," he chuckled, flexing his gloved fingers, "it's hard to say, really. I mean—," he cocked his head to regard her with a glare typical of a superior— "you _did _have the nerve to flee from the Empire; I'm guessing the sentence will be severe— death perhaps. Are you telling me you didn't even bother to _think _over the consequences before doing this?"

"Well what was I supposed to do!" she spat with sudden aggression. "My father was dying, and I was what— just supposed to do your bidding for the rest of my life— which by the way is like thirty years shorter than yours! Besides," she paused, her demeanor again shifting into submissiveness, "what else did I have to lose? I-I had lost e-everything." In a moment of uncontainable sorrow, Bulma could not suppress the sniffle that came, and her eyes began to water as she curled into a ball.

Vegeta merely stared, not with pity, not with guilt. But when seeing that first hint of oncoming tears his lips thinned in a grimace, anger dancing in his pupils. "No crying! I will not tolerate such weakness, even from a slave!"

Bulma sniffled again, before willing the tears gone with all her might.

"That's more like it," Vegeta muttered, calming once more.

Bulma waited until she was certain she could speak without her voice wavering to ask her second question. "A-and what about the Harem?" she gulped. She had given a lot of thought into asking this question, fearing that it would arouse . . . ideas. Her arms instinctually wrapped themselves around her body at the memory of the horrid nightmare she'd had while in the space- pod.

Perplexed, Vegeta shot her a sideways glance. "I fail to see how that is relevant to the matter of this discussion."

_What! _Bulma's brows twitched in puzzled annoyance. "W-what d'you mean? I know you and King Vegeta established a harem in the Palace; e-everyone's talking about it."

"Are they, now?" he inquired with a raised brow. After a minute he threw his head back and roared with genuine laughter. "Is that what you've been so afraid of? There is Concubine Duty, of course, in the Palace, but a harem! Hah! My dear Earthling, I dare say you've got me confused with Frieza! He's the one with a harem, not I!"

When Bulma remained silent Vegeta continued through his dying chuckles. "And no, I highly doubt _Concubine Duty_ will be your punishment."

The woman merely blinked, before her brows lowered over indignant eyes. "Are you saying I'm not _good_ enough to be a Concubine?"

Vegeta's visage collapsed into something quite comical at that. "What—!"

"Are you saying I'm not _pretty_ enough!"

"What are you blathering about—,"

"Well, let me tell you something," Bulma was on her forearms now due to drama of her verbal attack, "I'm ten times more beautiful than any of those mindless drones that you force yourself on against their will! And—,"

"Fine, you're right!" he roared. "Now, are you saying you _want _to be my Concubine! Because I swear if you don't watch your mouth, you're going to give me ideas!"

And like that Bulma promptly shut her mouth.

Vegeta watched in fascination as her face withdrew into an unreadable mask, and he absently awaited for her to explode. But she did nothing— didn't even blink as she turned and collapsed onto her opposite side, her shoulders hunching as her knees drew up to her chest, as though to estrange herself from the rest of the world.

She wasn't even sure how long it was until she calmed herself— wasn't sure what her last thought was, as her world gradually began to dissolve into that familiar tranquility of white darkness.

And Vegeta continued to watch her, watching as her frustrated breaths finally slowed, his mind replaying the heated conversation which they'd just had; the scene in which water droplets had shimmered like diamonds on her bare skin from the moonlight—

and unaware of it, his tail slowly unfurled and began to lash.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

A/N: Hmmmm. Nothing to say . . . oh well. **_9 REVIEWS PLEASE._**


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

_**The Perfect Flaw**_

_**Chapter XVI**_

"I'm sure he's fine, Chichi!"

The Ox King did his best to console his daughter who had just minutes ago burst into tears, his large hands resting on her trembling shoulders.

But alas she shrugged him off violently, pausing in her sobs and turning to snap, "And how do _you _know that! I waited all night for him to come back, and he didn't!"

The last fraction of the sentence was muffled as she buried her face back into her palms, and all her father could do was watch as he complied to her silent demand to back off.

"I mean, how the hell could he just— _leave_ me like that! He knows I'm pregnant! Can you imagine what my baby will grow up like without a father! He'll be scarred!"

A sudden noise disrupted her cries, and Chichi looked up to glare daggers to whomever else dared disturb her during her tantrum.

Then her jaw dropped.

_G-Goku?_

There in the doorway was her husband, flanked by both Yamucha and Krillin, his limp, muscular arms hooked around their necks and his head hung to his bare chest. But frankly Chichi did not take the time to notice his obvious injuries as she nearly flew from her seat to throw her arms around his waist, tears of devastation giving way to tears of joy.

Yamucha nodded curtly to Krillin, and Krillin— reluctantly— turned to explain. "Not now, Chichi," he stated, his own stern voice amazing even himself. "He's seriously hurt; he needs to lay down."

Both of them then made an extremely bold move. Chichi, instead of backing away to let them pass as had been their intent, let her mouth form a tight frown as she forced Goku's chin up with a hand, her eyes scanning over the bruises and cuts that marred his once delicate features. So, Krillin and Yamucha hastily pushed past her, forcibly, when she did not get out of the way, to lay Goku down gingerly onto the couch. They were fully aware of the glare they received in return. And the glare promised pain if they were to ever do that again.

"Goku," said Krillin with a slight shake to the shoulder. "Goku, get up!"

The only response he got though was an abnormally sharp intake of breath.

Perhaps his attempt had been futile, but if there was anyone in that room that knew how to stir someone from unconsciousness, it was Chichi. Unbeknownst to the rest of them she stalked up to stand behind the couch, grunting while overturning a large pot. Krillin jerked back with a yelp, watching as his best friend sputtered and coughed as the stream of water came crashing down over him.

Chichi's mouth puckered to the side and she closed her eyes beneath lowered brows in annoyance. "He said get up, Goku!"

The coughing continued, but he was awake.

Krillin leaned over him as he shot the woman a reproachful glare. "Watch it, Chichi; he got a serious beating!"

Dropping the pot to her feet, Chichi turned with an indignant toss of her black tresses.

"G-guys?"

Everyone grew silent as they turned to his raspy voice.

He regarded them through only one eye, the other repulsively swollen. Yet somehow, he would never cease to amaze them as that same unflagging smile graced his cracked lips.

Krillin released a relieved laugh. "Hey, you're awa— _oomph!_"

His greeting was abruptly cut short as he was shoved out of the way by a woman that was obvious going through some rather erratic mood swings, he decided. Chichi now knelt by the side of the sofa, her hands brought in to her chest and her eyes gleaming with ecstasy. Throwing herself over his battered body she cried, "Oh, you're alive! Alive!"

Goku winced as her body weight crushed his already broken ribs. But regardless one hand came to rest on her back, moving in perpetual, comforting circles. He was just so happy to see her again, considering how he had been almost certain that Samantha would be the last living thing he would ever see.

Suddenly straightening, Chichi shot him the glare that Goku only saw in his nightmares. "Do you have _any_ idea how much I was worrying about you!" she yelled, her voice like a _very_ out-of-tune violin. Goku cringed and quickly withdrew his hand with a suspicion that it was no longer comforting. "How could you just leave me like that when you know that we're gonna have to be responsible parents soon!" Her glare hardening, she spat with emphasis, "The _**two** _of us!"

"Don't . . . worry, Chich'; I'm . . . fine now! Really!"

"So what happened to the guy you were fighting, Goku?" Yamucha changed the subject with ease, coming up to hover above the couple.

Goku turned, blinking as though having no clue what the other warrior was talking about. But after a moment he shifted his gaze to stare down at his bruised chest, his brows knitting as the memory of that cynical smirk crept into his mind. "_Vegeta . . . _you mean?" he growled, his voice a mixture of hatred and self-loathing. "He . . . got away."

A brooding silence fell upon them as they took in Goku's uneasy expression which instinctually made each of their stomachs churn. And each of them was thinking the exact same thing as well: here lay the strongest fighter on the planet before them, broken and defeated. It was apparent that whatever he'd been up against, it had been strong enough to take him down. Not a pleasant thought at all.

"They were talking about that guy on the news," Chichi pointed out suddenly, turning to acknowledge the silent television screen.

Goku went rigid at that, and his eyes moved to stare into his wife's, his expression imploring that no bad news issue from her lips. Gathering up the courage, "He . . . didn't . . . do any more . . . damage, did he?"

"No. He was," her eyes averted in sadness and bemusement, "after . . . Bulma, apparently. They say he completely vanished once he got hold of her; they haven't found a trace of him since the annihilation of New York City."

"Bulma . . .?" he echoed, his pupils clouding with something Chichi couldn't decipher. Then his fists clenched, every tendon in his hands pulling dangerously tight as disbelief reigned his thoughts. _B-Bulma? W-what does she have to do with anything? Why would he have been after her?_

"Bulma?" Yamucha blinked and folded his arms. "Who's Bulma?"

Chichi snapped her head to the side slightly, her chin declined as she regarded him with a sideways glance. "Bulma . . . Bulma _Briefs._"

The room filled with murmurs. Krillin spoke up, his voice shaky with the overwhelming amount of emotions he was feeling at the moment. "Bulma _Briefs_? As in the Heiress of Capsule Corp?" he mused incredulously. "But . . .that can't be. Their daughter died a long time ago."

Chichi scowled. "Well, apparently not; he even made a broadcast telling everyone to look for her."

Oddly enough, Goku perked at this information. "Well, maybe then the Bulma we know is okay."

"No, Goku," Chichi said with a shake of her head. "She had blue hair . . . and . . . I doubt that's just a coincidence."

After a moment undescribable anger— _Saiyan_ anger— began to boil deep within Goku.

For already, he'd failed to protect a city from being leveled— anda newfriend.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

When Bulma awoke, Vegeta was not there.

Disoriented (as she, unfortunately, always was when she woke up in the morning), she at first rubbed her tired eyes with a filthy sleeve and mumbled incoherently as her eyes searched for the Prince.

But then it hit her. "The Dragon Balls! The Radar!"

She then bolted to her feet and rushed to investigate the area at which he'd been lying the night before. Surely the Heir to the Saiyan throne would not be stupid enough to leave such things of value to her intentions. She surmised that he most likely already capsulized and took them with him, wherever he'd gone off to, that is. But the question was, where? Where could he have gone to— and how could he be so heartless as to leave a fragile creature such as she in the wilderness! Had he already forgotten about the feline they'd dealt with last night?

As Bulma continued to search without result her thin brows knitted delicately. _That jerk! _she thought angrily. With a pout she straightened, blowing away the straggly strands of blue that had strayed across her face with an exasperated sigh. _I bet he left to look for the Dragon Balls without me! He thinks I'm slowing him down! _

Convinced Bulma puffed indignantly. _I **have** to get that Radar! And dammit, he isn't making this easy!_

_Well, what did you expect, Ms. Smart-ass? He's the Saiyan Prince!_ _He's not just gonna hand them over to you on a silver platter!_

Bulma sighed again, only this time it was from the overbearing wave of helplessness that crashed over her. _What am I gonna do? I have no use for the motorbike unless I have the Radar with me! And by the time he comes back for me, he'll probably have found all the Dragon Balls by then! _She gave a melodramatic growl and threw her head to the sky. **_What am I gonna do!_**

After a minute of crazed breathing, Bulma relaxed suddenly; her brows came together, and her jaw clenched in concentration as she brought oxygen in and out from her flaring nostrils. She had to calm down; Paranoia wasn't gonna to get her anywhere. Only brains could get her through this dilemma.

And maybe a quick rinse.

A smile flickered across her features for but an instant at the idea, and she nodded her head in confirmation. Yes, a bath would calm her senses. Something about that cool liquid lapping against her just— disintegrated all her worries.

Having come to a conclusion she headed in the direction of the oasis.

As she came to the brush, she began to unzip her jacket. She threw the torn material to the ground with resentment and looked up briefly to scan surroundings— and froze.

There, through the brush and half way into the water was a very naked Saiyan Prince. His back was turned to her, his arms at his sides. He was tense, as she could see, every flex and cut in his back deliciously accented against his scarred flesh.

_Look away! _She told herself in panic. _Look away, God dammit! Look away! _But her eyes rebelled, only growing wider as they continued to run along the contours in his shoulders and neck. _Oh, God, how can I just— **look away**? He's naked for Christ's sake! _

She started slightly as he suddenly submerged beneath the water and emerged— submerged and emerged— submerged and emerged— repeatedly, a thin wave of water gliding gracefully down his back and torso, only making his skin look all the more desirable. _Man, why do the jerks always have to be so attractive?_

And then he turned, in her direction.

Belatedly Bulma cursed and ducked from view, scrambling to grab her jacket. _Shit! Did he see me?_

"Woman!"

_I think that's a yes._

Vegeta growled ferally as he saw the flash of blue in the brush. Unfortunately, he was not wearing his scouter presently, but even if he had been it would have most likely not have picked up his presence. Damn the weakling; her power level might as well have been zero! But that was besides the point; he knew she was there, hiding. She was supposed to be sleeping! Last he'd seen her, she'd been sprawled in an awkward position, with one arm outstretched to her side while the other rested behind her head. Her legs had twisted to one side, one on top of the other, and her cheek lay flattened against her bicep, a drop of drool oozing from her open mouth. It had seemed like the perfect opportunity. Because for Hell's sake she hadn't been the only one immersed in reptilian blood!

_I knew she couldn't be trusted_, he thought bitterly.

Gulping, Bulma bolted straight up— with the fear of being blasted— and shot her arms above her head like a criminal surrendering to justice. "I-I'm sorry!" she said hastily. "I-I just came to take another bath, a-and I didn't know you were out there!" She paused before adding, "I swear!" Just in case.

In spite of the fact that only his chest was visible above the surface, Bulma could still feel a very familiar heat rush to cheeks. She barely resisted the urge to turn and flee from this humiliation, knowing he would only ridicule her more for cowardice.

Vegeta's features twisted in scorn; he remained silent as he made his way out of the water and to his unitard and armor.

_Holy shit! _Bulma clasped a hand over eyes and could've sworn she'd gone at least two shades redder. _Can he warn a person first!_

Seeing her reaction, Vegeta snickered as he began to dress. "You act as though you've never seen nudity before, Woman."

"Actually—," _now that I think about it—_ "I haven't."

Silence.

_That—, _the Prince thought, surprised,_ was not exactly the response I'd beenexpecting. _Vegeta paused as he reached for his chest armor, watching as Bulma shifted uncomfortably behind the brush.

Once slipping on his combat boots he strode and stopped before Bulma, waiting for her to realize her presence. And she did— she could feel his inhuman heat— but she made no move to withdraw her hand.

"You can open your eyes now." He was pretty sure she knew he was there, but he said this just in case.

Slowly her hand slid down the bridge of her nose and face, revealing wide and staring eyes. She locked with his own black orbs, and was suddenly frozen in place.

_Those . . . eyes._

They reminded her vaguely of staring over the edge of a cliff— into the seemingly depth less darkness; you couldn't see anything, but yet . . . you knew something was there.

She was jerked from her trance by his harsh voice. "Enough of this. We're leaving now," he stated flatly, brushing past her and stopping to look over his shoulder when not hearing her following footsteps. "Come."

Bulma complied silently, rushing up behind him and following him to camp.

And all the while, she found she couldn't stop thinking about those eyes.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

It was no use. He knew now, and was willing to accept the apparent fact that he would not be able to defeat this alien—

alone that is.

Just minutes ago, while he'd been in the middle of meditation, he'd felt it: that familiar pull in the corner of his mind.

One side of Piccolo's mouth curled up into a smirk. "So, you're alive, Goku. We may actually have a chance after all."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Bulma had gradually noticed it.

At first she had believed it to be just her imagination. But when she looked down that's when she noticed the incalculable number of goose-bumps that broke out on her arms.

The wind was also becoming more fierce— more virulent. It whipped viciously about her, causing her to cling tighter to the Prince's neck. No longer was their any visible distinction between sky and land; everything eventually dissolved into a sheet of white that stretched as far as the eye could see.

_It's even colder than it was in New York. What the hell's going on?_

And then it got worse when something inexplicably cold began to pelt upon them. But what was strange about it was that it seemed to melt as soon as it made contact with her skin. Frozen rain.

Briefly Bulma looked to Vegeta to see how he was dealing with the foreign substance. Straining her ears she realized he was saying something.

"What is this stuff, Woman?" he roared over the deafening wind.

Bulma's breaths quickened. "I-I don't know!" She winced as his arms tightened around her— whether it was instinctive or just displeasure with her answer.

"It's your planet!"

Bulma seethed at that. "So!" she practically hissed. "It's not like I've lived here for the majority of my life!" She was certain that he'd growled at that, but it was now impossible to tell.

She hadn't even been aware of when they landed; only when she felt that shred of heat depart from her did she realize it, and immediately she panicked. "W-wait! I-I c-c-can b-barely see you!" she shouted through chattering teeth. With one arm coiled meekly around her hunched form, the other outstretched in an attempt to reach his quickly fading form.

When she heard his voice, it was as cool and emotionless as the wind itself. "Hurry up! I don't have all day."

Bulma's shock at his apathy would have been evident, had her frozen visage been capable of forming expression. Instead a dull, dubious ache was born just above her brow, and her teeth rattled as she complied with every ounce of human strength she had.

But whatever it was that buried her ankles wouldn't let her, and each time she forced herself to look up into the blinding white, she found that her guide's outline was becoming less and less distinct. _He wouldn't seriously leave me behind, would he? _Bulma thought as she gripped tighter to her jacket. She could not ascertain whether she was actually grabbing cloth though; her fingers were now officially and utterly numb. At first she had recalled a pain that had rippled through her digits and toes, but now there was nothing— no sensation whatsoever.

Meanwhile Vegeta wasn't having it as easily as one would have thought. In fact, though he wouldn't admit it, the only thing he relying on presently was the Radar. Even his eyes couldn't penetrate the white obscurity.

However he hadn't forgotten completely about the woman. Every so often he would throw glances at her over his shoulder, just to make she was still there.

But this time, as he turned his head against the wind, his eyes fractionally widened. There was no visible trace of the slave.

"Panic" was not exactly the word he'd use— a Saiyan Prince did not "panic"; it was unbefitting. It was more like "concern" that flickered through his senses as his eyes searched for the girl's outline. He spun, his face impassive, and headed a few steps from where he'd come, being conscious of where he set his foot lest he accidently crush the weakling's skull beneath his boot. He nudged something suddenly.

Looking down (and squinting), he managed to make out her imprint in the white fluff and crouched down until his thighs brushed against the bitter cold. Then he carefully braced his forearms on his thighs and blinked while studying the girl's features. She lay prone, her arms tucked inside her jacket and out of sight, her drenched blue locks splayed across her pale cheek that was as white as the substance that surrounded her.

"Woman, get up!" he ordered with a snarl. There was no response, not even a grunt of acknowledgment. He snarled again, this time a raw, untamed sound that came from deep within his chest. "I said get up!"

Vegeta bristled with fury, crouching lower until he could lift the body by the shoulders. The way he propped her was awkward; his intent had been to draw her attention to him, but instead her head merely lolled back behind her shoulders in an unnatural position, her blue lips, lifelessly. A shake was of no use either, for then her head lolled forward to her chest.

Growling, Vegeta gave her one more, vicious shake, snapping harshly, "Woman! Answer me!"

Vegeta's jaws began to grind when there was still no response, a habit that usually indicated brooding. After a minute, and after a sigh, "I suppose I could transfer a small amount of my ki into her—," he said, his brow creasing as he considered the idea.

Tensing, he then spun the girl so that it was her back that he drew in against his chest. To be perfectly honest he had never done a ki transference in his life; when would he ever have needed to? It had been done to him, on one occasion, when he'd been training. But still, that one experience did not mean in the slightest that _he_ had the experience of doing a transference.

So naturally he was not about to let the woman he had encircled in his arms know that he had no idea just how much she could take from him; for he knew that there was only so much of his power that her alien body could handle. Hopefully she would just be aware enough of when she reached limit.

Bulma jolted suddenly and clutched the gloved hands that rested against her stomach. An undescribable warmth tingled in her abdomen, suffusing through the rest of her body like a river current. Like a cat her body lengthened, her eyes staring at the white sky through a haze of steel blue, her back arching against hard armor as her head slammed back in a flurry of blue against the juncture ofVegeta's neck. Every tendon in her body tensed where the warmth swam through her, to the point that she feared her muscles would snap. Her teeth ground, her fingers curling to clutch the leather of the glowing gloves.

_P-painful pleasure, _she decided. Grunting, she pushed her head harder against her cushion, resting just underneath Vegeta's chin. _Is this how it always feels? Ki?_

"M . . . more."

The utter was barely audible through the uncountable distractions around them, but Vegeta heard it. He was actually a bit surprised as well; he had thought that she had already reached her limit, considering her whimpers and writhing. But still— he must admit with a devious smirk— he did not hesitate in the slightest. Immediately he acquiesced to her order, willing an bit more of his energy into her body and feeling as she pressed harder into him with the new wave of heat that crashed through her.

The new wave was more than she had expected, and her reaction was an involuntary jerk. But it was amazing all the same. She could now feel it distinctly as the current coursed and branched through each vein; she could feel her heart burning as it pulsed within her chest. And as the last smidgen of cold was forced through her trembling fingertips, she shivered in delight, unaware of the long moan of contentment that issued from her smiling lips.

She had never experienced such a . . . sensation. So this was what ki felt like, huh?

It was funny, how such arms and hands, hands that had brought death to so many people, could be so— _beneficial. _The sudden memory of when she'd seen him sparring flashed through her brain— of having had the chills of being so close to this being's power— and now she _was_ this power; that raw power she had witnessed was flowing into _her._

She was amazingly calm when she felt hot lips against her ear. "Like it, Woman?" he rumbled, and she could feel each syllable to her very core.

Slightly disoriented, Bulma's brows twitched. "Bulma," she mumbled. "My name is . . . Bulma."

She heard chuckling at this, a low, very— _Saiyan _sound. Confused and irritated, _What's he laughing at? _

And suddenly self awareness swam back to her as the warmth began to slip away. Mewing, she turning with that energy sparking in her azure orbs once again, her body jerking when making contact with the despicable cold.

Turning his head over one shoulder, he regarded her with concealed amusement. "Better stay close to me then, if you wish to stay warm; I won't waste time again, transferring my ki directly."

And as he started forward into the white, Bulma took his suggestion without a second thought, scurrying close to his heat, like a moth to a flame.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"I said stay close to me, not cling to me, you fool." Vegeta scowled at the girl that had somehow managed to latch herself to his arm. But she ignored his remark. Instead she kept her gaze downcast to avoid the freezing winds, meanwhile doing her best to stay within his aura. With a grunt he shrugged her away. "Get off me!"

Bulma whimpered again at the harsh rejection, retreating into herself for warmth. _So cold. _

And she meant the Prince, not the frozen rain.

"Aha!" Vegeta laughed suddenly.

"W-w-what I-is it?"

"The Dragon Ball, that's what; it's about time!"

Bulma only groaned.

According to the device's coordinates, the Dragon Ball was straight ahead. Vegeta raised his gaze expectantly, growling low in his throat when seeing an immense glacier before them.

Bulma saw it too; her body stilled as she examined it in awe— its unbelievable size. "Is . . . it— i-in _that_?" she mused, clumps of white gathering at the edges of her long lashes.

There was no response, and curious she turned to see him in deep thought. After a minute, "I'd move out of the way if I were you."

It took a moment to react to this sudden suggestion, and as she saw gloved hand extend she found her body instinctively leaping as far back it could from the humanoid weapon.

She wondered if he even saw her get out of the way. Bulma didn't doubt for one second that regardless of whether she had gotten a safe distance or not he would have let that blast go, uncaring if she had been harmed.

It whistled past her with enormous force despite her distance, bringing her straggling tresses malevolently across her scrunched face. The ground quaked underneath her unstable feet as the beam made contact with its target, and she was thrown painfully to her rear. Unthinking her head snapped up as she snarled, "Whad'you doing! You're going to destroy the Dragon Ball with that strength!"

"Hmph. Idiot, you don't think I considered that?" he said crossly. "The Dragon Ball is deeper within that thing; it does no harm getting rid of the part of the obstacle that's unnecessary."

Bulma could feel something very wet begin to soak through her clothing. Realization hitting her she climbed to her feet, her hands diligently wiping the white fluff from her bottom.

"Now," Vegeta said to himself, "to be more precise." Ignoring the whines of the girl beside him he once again extended a hand, only this time nothing but his index was locking on his target. He remained absolutely still for a moment, before releasing the thin thread of light.

It sped and made impact in less than a second, creating a spray of white as it ate its way through the glacier. Meanwhile the Saiyan kept his eyes on the Radar, his mind racing with calculations. "There," he confirmed. He dropped his arm once again to his side and turned to stare at the woman, expectantly.

Bulma blinked. "What?"

"It's your turn now, Woman."

She was about to ask what the hell he was talking about, but found herself lifted from her feet. He hefted her up by the collar of her jacket, ignoring her pathetic struggles, and halted before the hole in the glacier which he'd just made. She turned to glare up into his obsidian eyes as she was thrown unceremoniously to the ground. "You're going to crawl in there," he said a-matter-of-factly, tilting his head to the manmade passage.

"B-but, why m—?"

"Just do it."

_Well, I guess now would be the best time to start at 'obeying those who are **superior** to me'._ Muttering under her breath, Bulma complied. She pushed herself to her feet, absently patting her bottom while doing so, and shuffled to the hole.

He'd done a pretty decent job— and done it with astonishing precision. About two or so yards into the glacier was exactly was he was looking for, in plain view and unscathed.

And why he ordered her to fetch it? She guessed he just didn't want to humiliate himself getting stuck or something trying to crawl through it. Bulma repressed a giggle at the image of his broad, muscular body wedged in the tunnel, then kept that image with her to keep her in a good mood as she started down the slick passageway.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

A/N: Next chap! Can the world really wait two days for their savior to heal?For just how long will it take for the Saiyan Prince to gather all the Dragon Balls?And will Bulma be able to find the right moment to steal the Radar? (heh, i feel like that narrator dude.)

**_PLEASE REVIEW!_**

**IMPORTANT NOTE! **(My god this was excruciating to write. I feel like I rushed it too much.) And unfortunately, this is the last chap that's gonna be updated for a while. As of tomorrow, I'm leaving to LA for three weeks. And when I get back, my dad will have already left to Washington, and will have taken the computer with him. My computer's not working currently, and I could use my mom's lab-top, but she's already warned me that she's probably gonna be on it most of the time for work. So yeah, what would Bulma do in a situation like this: sits and ponders a moment: Hmmmm. She'd probably just make her own computer . . . yikes.

So, just a heads up. Didn't want you to think that I died or something. Hopefully you won't forget about me. Tell you what, check in on this fic— oh, let's say— three-n-a half weeks or so, and hopefully I will have updated by then.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ . . . sadly.

A/N: Long time no see, folks. :gets on hands and knees: I'm soooo sorry for the wait; I beg your forgiveness, Please! I feel aweful! I've barely had any time to write, since my friends from Germany got here two weeks ago; and also, if any of you have read my bio, and tried emailing me to answer my question, something's wrong with my account, and I didn't get it. So please, accept Microsoft Word?I know it says it does, but I've tried once before, and it wouldn't accept it for some reason.

But anyway, please forgive me,O Mighty Reviewer!

_**The Perfect Flaw**_

_**Chapter XVII**_

Well, it was nice to get away from freezing climates, she guessed. Unfortunately, Bulma couldn't really agree that humidity was any better.

In the cold she hadn't had to worry about her image (well of course she had looked drenched from the frozen rain, but no one could have seen her anyway through the obscurities),unlike this weather. Here, her normally vivacious blue locks were nothing more than unsightly pieces of yarn that clung to her forehead from the sweat, straggling down to frame her damp, sheen face.

And it was all draining her energy as well. Her body began to sag in Vegeta's arms as they flew through the gray skies,and her eyes began to droop. She hadn't looked this beat since the all-nighter she pulled a while back at the Palace. She had smuggled her invention into her dorm in a desperate attempt to finish before her deadline, and she did succeed--- but the next day a guard found her face first in her notebook, drooling, and gave her a first and final warning not to fall asleep on her job again. The tone of his voice had promised unimaginable pain.

"It's here."

Bulma started, and she didn't have to be teeming with brain power to know he was referring to the Dragon Ball.

But did he expect her to say something? Because if he did, too bad; she felt too weak to bother. Instead the human remained silent, and tightened her grip around Vegeta as they swooped down to touch ground. When feeling dirt beneath her feet, Bulma pushed away from the Saiyan's chest, looking into his eyes.

They held their entire focus on the Radar's readings, and gleamed with something that frightened Bulma.

And then as he started forward, she found it was too much to bare. "Prince Vegeta, please,"--- in a bold move to restrain him any further, she blocked his path--- "let me handle this one. This is dealing with civilians."

She earned a growl in return. But nevertheless, to her surprise, he stood back and nodded curtly.

Giving an inward sigh, Bulma then held out her palm expectantly. _This is it, _she thought, _when he gives you the radar, remain calm and wait until you're **out of sight** before you grab for the motorbike._

Vegeta stared at the extended hand as though puzzled. After another moment, when her hand did not retreat, his brows lowered in askance. "What are you waiting for?"

"The Radar." She made a slight beckoning motion with her fingers. "I need it to find the Ball."

He didn't look convinced. Hidden suspicion laced his words, "It's over there"--- he pointed to catch her attention--- "in that dwelling."

_God **dam**mit! _She had been so close, she just knew it! Was this guy ever off guard!

Cursing, silently, she turned and made her way without protest to the hut he'd been pointing to.

Inside was a shop of some sort; People buzzed around, oblivious to her presence, while they studied items from small to large that lay on shelves.

The room was tiny, and with the abundance of individuals, it made Bulma feel--- _anxious_. In normal circumstances, yes, of course she would have been the usual, social butterfly she was born to be, but right now she was on a mission, and these fellow humans would only make it more difficult. Next thing she did was look around to study the items which held the folks' attention. Most were small, looked like hand woven bowls or jewelry or toys---

and then there it was, in all its glory, on display--- _for sale_.

Bulma caught her breath. Hurriedly she pushed past busied customers, coming to a halt before the front desk. There a man greeted her with a smile, which somehow only made her more anxious. "_Holà. Como te puedo ayudar?"_

Huh?

Bulma stuttered.

"_Busca algo especifico?"_

What the hell was he saying! "I . . ."

"English?"

The baffled scientist turned to the new voice. A woman stood beside her, her head cocked to the side as a crooked grin spread across her features. Her skin was a lighter tone than the man's, and wisps of fire red came down about her glowing face. "Do you speak _English_?"

"I . . . er---uh . . . y-yes."

"Hey; have we--- met before? You look so familiar."

Bulma's brow creased in bemusement. "N-no."

The woman laughed prettily, placing a hand daintily to her lips a she did so. "I'm sorry; my mistake. What can I help you with?"

Bulma didn't answer immediately. Instead she found herself replaying the woman's words in her mind, analyzing the strange accent that laced them.

She soon snapped out of it, however, when an unpleasant image of an impatient Prince flashed behind her eyes. "Um, listen, it--- it's_ critical_ that I have that ball,"---- Bulma pointed shakily before adding, "_extremely _critical."

The woman laughed again, tossing her rich red locks. "_Okaay---_. I don't see what you need help with there; that'll be $7.99."

Bulma made an incoherent noise of panic. "M-money?" she squeaked. "B-but I . . . I don't have any money."

The woman's smile vanished and her bright, glowing gaze turned sympathetic. "Well, then I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you can't have it then. I need $7.99."

"Mommy, I want that one; it has stars!"

How Bulma had managed to catch those words amid the abundance of other strange, foreign words that passed her by was a mystery--- perhaps it was because they were in a language she understood--- but that didn't matter at the moment. What mattered was that her assumption was correct: the small toddler was pointing to the Dragon Ball.

Bulma turned back to face the woman. "Please, you don't understand!" she wheedled, clasping her hands together and wringing them in wrought. "I _need _that ball!"

The look of sympathy was rapidly transforming into one of annoyance. "I don't know why you need it so much--- it's just a toy--- but it doesn't matter; you have to pay for it."

Bulma could feel her inner volcano beginning to boil. Fists clenching, her full, lush lips began to thin and contract over gritted teeth.

And then unexpectedly, without explanation, that evident anger subsided. Straggly strands of blue fell forward as Bulma bowed her head in surrender, and in a deliberately broken voice, "I understand. It was nice meeting you."

She didn't dare lift her gaze to see that woman's idiotic smile as she turned and made her way to the exit. Instead she kept her chin low, and her eyes downcast.

But soon she crossed paths with the little kid who held the Dragon Ball in his grasp. He smiled as his mother asked him something, turning his head to look up at her. And just like that, in the blink of an eye Bulma dashed forward and past, extractingthe ball from his small hands. It took the child a moment--- when he looked back down at his palms, only to find that they were empty.

It felt fiendish robbing from a toddler. So with a twinge of guilt, Bulma couldn't help but yell over her shoulder, "Sorry, Kid!" as she sprinted for the hut opening. "But I need this more than you do!"

The boy stood dumbfounded and blinked as though he were a newborn child, before erupting into heart wrenching sobs. He clutched his mother's hand, and togetherthey began to create a scene.

Unfortunately, as close as freedom seemed, it was crushed when Bulma felt two female hands coil around her arm, halting her in her escape. Hissing rabidly, she whirled to see the woman from before.

"Let go!" Bulma screamed.

As though to make her point, the blue haired freedom fighter thrust a fist viciously into the woman's nose; the redhead's protests and shouts ceased instantly as she fell back to make contact with the hut floor.

_You're more Saiyan than you think_, Bulma thought to herself, distantly. _If Prince Vegeta were here right now, he'd probably be so proud of you._

_Or--- laughing hysterically._

Bulma gave another earpiercing shriek as she again attempted freedom, only to feel more hands enclose around her flailing arms--- stronger hands--- masculine.

Now two men flanked her. One she recognized from the counter, the one who couldn't speak English, and the other just a bystander.

And it was obvious, as she continued to struggle without result, that she was out matched. Soon, all she could do was gasp as the Dragon Ball was ripped forcefully from her grasp. They said something she couldn't understand, one raising a hand as though threatening to backhand her.

"_Pare!_"

Bulma recognized that voice.

Sneering, she looked up into the redhead's face. The woman's eyes burned a brilliant green, as blood smeared her nose and trickled its way into her mouth, staining her teeth. "Don't hit her! She is a criminal, and just like any other thief, she will be dealt with accordingly." As calm and controlled as her words sounded, Bulma could hear the hidden malice.

"Now,"--- the woman beckoned for the Dragon Ball, continuing when it was placed in her open palm--- "what I don't understand is, why anyone would make such a fuss over a toy ball."

Bulma stammered. "Well, l-look---,"

"That's it! I'm tired of waiting!"

Everyone silenced when hearing the bone-chilling voice.

Oddly, Bulma was actually relieved when hearing that familiar complaint. In most instances she, as well as any other slave, would be terrified, but as hard as she tried, she just couldn't ignore the voice in the back of her mind:

_something was changing. _

Fuming, Vegeta entered the scene, his tail unwound and lashing--- which only happened on two occasions: 1. when a Saiyan was angry, and not just _angry_, but seriously _pissed. _And 2. a sign of a Saiyan taking a liking to something, like a member of the opposite sex, or a favorite meal perhaps. Otherwise, having one's tail unfurled was a high risk fighting hazard, and was therefore to be locked around the waist at all times.

Vegeta's tail seemed to relax slightly, however, when he took in what was happening. His eyes first studied the fugitive as she stood impotent in two men's holds, a look of pure surprise writ across her face. Then they shifted carefully to another woman,who had turned her head in his direction with a mixture of confusion and horror swirling in her green orbs. She stood just feet away from Bulma, a red blotch on her face stark and hideous against her pretty features.

After a moment of making a conclusion, Vegeta wasn't able to repress the dry laugh that cut mercilessly through the silence. Crossing his arms, he cocked his head and regarded Bulma with a genuine smirk. "Is this how you 'deal with civilians'?" He was shaking with laughter now. "If so, I think we both know I would have done a better job!"

"I didn't mean to hit her!" Bulma snapped in defense. The grips on her arms tightened from her sudden outburst, and it was a good enough reminder to harbor her temper. She lowered her head as though in shame, her voice softer. "It was just kinda . . . instinctive."

He would have retorted to that, had something else not caught his attention. Something small and spherical.

Instantly Vegeta materialized before the redheaded woman, causing her face to pale, and causing him to smirk. But whether he was taking pleasure in her fright--- for Saiyans loved to be feared--- or in the sight of her bloody nose Bulma didn't know.

"Give me the Dragon Ball."

By now, incomprehensible whispers had begun to flitter about the room.

"I-I-I know w-w-ho you are!" the woman exclaimed suddenly, not hearing his command. She pointed a shaky finger in Bulma's direction. "I-I knew you looked familiar! Y-you're the girl, B-bulma Briefs!"--- Bulma grunted as she was thrown immediately to the floor--- "And that means . . ."

She trailed off, then became even paler when turning back to the smirking Saiyan.

"B-but they said you'd gone once you had gotten what you wanted!" The woman took an involuntary step back.

Vegeta chuckled--- such an ugly sound. "Yes, but then I remembered a quick errand I had to run before I left." He extended a hand expectantly. "Now are you going to give me the Ball, or am I going to have to take it from you?"

"Please!" Bulma cried out. "Please just give it to him!"

_Obviously, _the woman thought as she dropped the item into the alien's hand, _this thing is more than just a toy._

A genuine smile graced Vegeta's lips as he studied the possession in his hands, and as it quickly disappeared Bulma knew that that was probably the one and only time she would ever see affection in his dark eyes.

"We're done here; let's go." A slight motion of his head was all that was needed for Bulma to climb to her feet obediently. She scurried after him, biting back the scream that tickled her throat. How many more Dragon Balls did they have to find? Two? Three? She had made a vow to herself not to let him get his wish, but God Dammit, now that she really thought about it, she must have been an idiot to actually think she could overcome the _Prince of all Saiyans, _in either wits or strength.

Bulma watched absently as Vegeta capsulized the Dragon Ball with the others. Then he stood and looked to her, impassively, his hand extending to take hers. She observed through empty eyes as she accepted--- it was a rote by now---, just as emotionlessly, and was pulled to his hard, heartless chest. Lost in her thoughts, she rested her head with a sigh against his shoulder, while his arms enclosed securely around her.

What was she gonna do? Time was running out. And not just for stealing the Radar, but for being alive as well.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"I'm nervous," Krillin admitted into the silence. "I can still feel that monster out there, somewhere. Why hasn't he left yet?"

The room was pitch black---due to everyone's agreement on getting some rest---, yet somehow the Earth warrior knew that not one person was asleep, not with the repulsive aura that hung in the air.

"Yeah, Krillin," came Goku's voice. "I feel it, too. And Bulma's still with him." There was a small silence after that, before he added, inevitably, "We have to help her."

Chichi's voice came next, loud and stern. "Oh, no you don't! You're not leaving me again!"

"She's right," Krillin agreed. "We know she's your friend, but you're too injured to do anything about it, Goku. Right now, the best thing to do would be to just wait till Korin or Yajirobe come with the sensu beans."

"Yeah, and when the time comes, don't think you're gonna be fightin' that guy alone!" said Yamucha a-matter-of-factly, encouraged by a small chirp from Puar beside him.

There was a small growl from Chichi, as she all but shouted, "No! I mean you're not leaving at all! Period! Haven't you taken our baby into consideration, Goku! What if something happened! It's too dangerous to risk!"

"Chich', calm down! And what if we were to leave the situation alone? Vegeta already annihilated an entire city; what makes you think he won't do it again? The point is, there's gonna be a risk, even if we don't do anything about it."

A small "hmph" followed this statement, along with a sharp intake of breath, which indicated her upcoming retort. But at the last second, her angry words were muffled by a hand as large as her face. "Chichi, you have to relax!" Her father's voice rumbled deep like thunder. "You can't stop Goku from trying to save the Earth! Or your friend, Bulma! Don't you want to save your friend?"

Chichi only sobbed at that, her eyes watering, her cries softened by her father's hand.

"Don't worry Chich'; I'll be fine," assured Goku, weakly. "I'll be fine."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Bulma wasn't exactly certain where they were now.

It was a canyon of some sort, that much was obvious. Vast . . . empty . . . and all was silent save for the ghostly wind and famished scavengers that circled overhead.

They were on foot now, due to the Dragon Ball being nearby. And it was something Bulma wasn't used to. Sure, she walked through corridors in the palace, but they were just corridors; there was no energy or endurance needed.

Not like now.

And now Bulma was sad to say that she wished she hadn't taking the humidity for granted. This heat was even more unbearable. Unlike with the humidity, with which she had been incredibly restless and had felt---entrapped, this heat literally beat down on her. She felt as though she were on the Saiyan menu, in the frying pan cooking over-medium. It enveloped her and seared her skin to a rosy red; her thin blue main was a nothing a burden atop her head, and burnt her ears with each step she took.

The sun which she could clearly recall praising when she first arrived on Earth, was now presently her greatest enemy.

But still Bulma was determined to remain in good spirits. For surely the heat was affecting His Majesty as well? And she knew the last thing he wanted in his mood was her complaining.

So, what better way to get their minds off the heat than striking up a conversation?

Bulma took a second to ponder a formidable topic. Now what did Saiyans talk about when they weren't killing each other? The weather? Food? She'd never really contemplated it before. Interesting thought.

"Um . . . _so_---," Bulma drawled, quickening her pace to catch up with Vegeta, "what's--- it--- like being a Prince?" _Bulma, that's gotta be the stupidest question you could've asked._

Vegeta's s sideways glance held a hint of suspicion, before it was replaced with a sardonic glint. "Not that interesting really. Oh, but please; tell me, _Bulma_, what is it like being a _slave_?"

That was as painful as a blade gliding through Bulma's tender, human flesh.

Appalled,her mouth fell agape. That had been the first time he had said her name, and she wasn't sure she liked it. The way it came from between his lips sent a chill racing down her spine."Was that really necessary!" she shouted, her voice echoing throughout the canyon. Well if he was going to ask such a question, she might as well answer honestly, right? Bulma's glare saddened, and she turned her head away. "It's horrible." She waited a moment after that, as though expecting words of comfort from him. When they didn't come, "As if _you_ would know what it's like."

Though she whispered this, Vegeta's Saiyan ears easily caught it. Both corners of his lips curled in pure cruelty. "No, I wouldn't."

How could someone not feel any trace of guilt when she'd said it like that? Wasn't there a limit on how cruel someone could be?

"Aha! There!"

Bulma turned in curiosity to see Vegeta's eyes wide with joy . . .

well . . . joy as far as Saiyans go.

And she took that moment to study him, the way his lips spread into that true smile again. There he was, completely oblivious to how painful his words and lack of sensitivity had sliced through what little confidence she had left.

And then she thought, was it possible to change someone? Was there a way, somehow, to change this man? If there were even the _opportunity_, would Vegeta want to change? Was he really happy with whom he was? Were all Saiyans truly content with whom they were?

Bulma started when Vegeta spun on her. "Stay here."

_By myself?_

But before she even had the time to open her mouth and protest, he was already gone, having disappeared over the edge of the plateau.

Deft, Vegeta plummeted with eyes still glued to the Radar. He came to a halt when the contraption beeped confirmation. Then he shifted his gaze to a large nest of some kind which lay before him within a cove in the plateau, and the small Dragon Ball which stuck out like a sour thumb amidst the bundle of eggs.

Vegeta smiled. _Too easy_.

But just as he hovered forward with an outstretched hand, a discordant sound rang through his sensitive eardrums, and he hunched forward with his palms clasped to the side of his head.

He shut his eyes for but a mere instant to will away the screech. And in that mere instant, the blackness of his eyelids darkened subtly.

If it hadn't been for his Saiyan instincts, who knows what kind of scar would have marred his face.

It wasn't that he _saw _it coming at the last second exactly--- more like _felt _it. Similar to when one rests their eyes, and then just has that--- _feeling _that someone's there. Call it an extra sense if you will.

But he felt it at the last second, and swiftly leaped back to avoid his unknown attacker.

Unfortunately, he was one half of a second too late as something sharp grazed against his skin. He felt the sting as it dug into his forehead and trailed down his cheek.

Once at a safe distance, Vegeta regarded his giant, bird-like foe with a smirk, and licked up the drop of blood that glided over his lip. "How dare you . . ."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

The squawking was unlike anything she'd ever heard.

_And if I'm having a hard time with it, I wonder how that royal ass is doing._

Not that she thought he was going to have a hard time exterminating a gargantuan reptilian-bird. Hell, she felt sorry for the animal.

Suddenly, Bulma felt a series of chills flitter down her spine as the squawks became more incessant, each bloodcurdling and filled with undescribable anguish.

_Yep, it's almost dead._

But wait a second . . .

Bulma listened carefully, her brow furrowing. Perhaps it was it just her, but . . . was the squawking getting--- louder?

Immediately following the dreadful discovery, Bulma's entire figure became engulfed in shadow. Before she could even look up, she felt as the creature's talons locked themselves around each arm--- nearly dislocating her shoulders, she noted distantly--- and roughly pulled her air born.

"VEGETA!" she screamed. A pure, raw sound that resembled that of a child's nails raking down a blackboard. It ripped through canyon, matching, perhaps even drowning out her captor's screech.

Meanwhile, down below, the Prince stood with one royal boot atop his prey's severed head, victorious, a look of smug writ across his face as he held his prize: the Dragon Ball.

But of course, the smirk was wiped clear off his face when that familiar, banshee like scream reached his ears, one that also made him wince. He swore, that was probably how she had managed to escape! That voice of hers would freeze any Saiyan in their tracks! He had a hunch that she could shatter glass with that pitch of hers!

Vegeta cursed, going on about the damn woman, as he took off after the damsel-in-distress. She was but a speck in the distance when he flew above the plateau. All thought vanished from his mind as he immediately sped through the sky after her, the diffusing light of ki glowing about him as he cut through the air at light speed.

And light speed was all that was needed to catch up with the animal instantly. Seconds later the ki ceased with a hiss from his abrupt stop, and Vegeta's fist (which mind you had the impact of a canon being fired) flew mercilessly into its side. It veered off course, the sudden flash of pain also causing it to release its grip on Bulma. The girl gave a bloodcurdling cry as she plummeted into the canyon; her body performed a series of twists that ended with her hurdling face first toward the jagged rocks that lay below.

And Bulma found that in that moment, her life flashed before her eyes. Memories of those horrid, leering faces that used to stare down at her flashed in her mind; her tears and breathless howls when she had had the ki whip across her back; then the smile that had tickled her lips when she received the first gift from her parents.

She remembered Mark, and the smile he'dgiven her on their date; the moment she first sank her teeth into those chocolate chip cookies; her mother and father's faces etched into the picture within her locket, which grinned each time she'd open it, giving her a feeling of hope.

Then finally, Bulma could recollect the first Earth-sunset which she had witnessed. In Vegeta's arms.

And just as she clenched her eyes shut to await the oncoming penetration from the keen rock, it never came. Instead she opened her eyes, bewildered. _I-I'm alive?_ It took her another moment before fully realizing she was in the Saiyan's arms. Bulma blinked, as though her mind were struggling in grasping what had just happened.

Had he just saved her?

Although she knew the reason for his action---his mission to get her back to Planet Vegeta alive, blah blah blah--- it still . . . felt strange. Never in her life time had Bulma ever foreseen a _Saiyan protecting_ her.

It took her asecond longerto realize that she was still in a daze, even after Vegeta had already released her. He stared at her, his expression unreadable--- how typical, thought Bulma---, his arms crossed.

Giving his head a slight tilt, he grunted, "Come on, I've got the Dragon Ball," as though nothing had even happened.

When Bulma did not comply (and believe me, _everyone _complied with the Saiyan Prince), Vegeta only scowled. "Well?"

Bulma's lips pursed in thought. "Oh, wait a second!"

Vegeta blinked at her sudden exclamation, feeling a rare twinge of helplessness as he watched the woman reach into her pocket and retrieve a capsule. When it hit the ground and the billow of smoke cleared, he immediately recognized her bag. Then she crouched down and began rummaging through her items. In usual circumstance Vegeta would not have had the patience to wait there as long as he did, but a strange curiosity gripped him.

Standing straight, Bulma turned toward Vegeta with an "aha!"; immediately Vegeta's eyes snapped to the hidden object in her hand. As far as he was concerned, he had perfect reason to be on guard at all times around this wench: after all, she had managed to escaped from Planet Vegeta.

But she only smiled as she stepped up to him, stopping when she was inches away. Then Vegeta saw what was in her grasp.

A thin, flimsy sheet of paper was made evident as she meaningfully twirled it around her fingers. Then, with a boldness worthy of going down in history, Bulma carefully raised the paper to Vegeta's wound.

_**What the hell?**_

He had completely forgotten about the minor battle scratch; it wasn't as though it irritated him or anything, such a small laceration wasn't worthy of medical attention.

Vegeta merely stared, astonished, as the little human held the tissue to his wound, occasionally giving a dab here or there. _She's either extremely bold, or extremely stupid,_ he thought, blinking.

Bulma's lips pulled tighter. "Whoa, it's gushing!"

As though having been pulled from his daze, Vegeta gave a sudden growl, and pushed her away. "Get your hands off me!" he snapped, crossly.

Bulma glared. "Sheesh! I was just tryin'na help!"

"Don't be stupid." Vegeta scoffed, royally.

Eyes flashing, Bulma turned and made herself busy by recapsulizing her belongings. "I sure hope that doesn't scar," she said after a minute. Vegeta scoffed again.

"Absurd. A scratch as meager as this is not worthy of a warrior's attention. It'll be gone before tomorrow morning."

Bulma turned away at that, and muttered, "Well aren't you sure of yourself."

But she knew he was right. Saiyans' recuperative skills, along with their immune systems were amazingly superior to that of other races. So it was most likely he was not lying.

"Now come on," ordered Vegeta. "We've no time to waste."

_Oh, yes we do. _"But look;"--- Bulma pointed to the rapidly coloring sky--- "the sun is setting. And we haven't even eaten anything."

Vegeta seethed. The harpy had a point there. As though on cue, a vicious growl came from Vegeta's stomach, reminding him that he had neglected his appetite the entire day. And now that she had mentioned hunger, he wasn't sure he could just push it to the back of his mind. _Damn woman, _he thought with a scowl. _She will be the death of me before this journey is over; I'll eat **her** if she doesn't watch it._

"Very well," Vegeta grumbled, holding out his hand.

Bulma stared intently at his glove a moment longer, which caused Vegeta's brows to twitch in suspicion, before she stepped forward and slipped her slender hand in his strong one. And as she felt that first familiar rush as they soared into the sky, he was completely oblivious to the gears that were turning fervently within the slave's mind:

So she'd admit it: she was no martyr. But hell, she was going to die anyway, as difficult as it was to accept. And it was because of that fact that she felt it best to at least try her best to steal the Radar back. And if she died trying, at least she'd go into the next life knowing she'd done her best to save the hundreds of lives that would be destroyed were Vegeta to get his wish.

So, no more goofing off; no more cowering. Tonight, Bulma was going to steal the Radar--- and make her escape.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

A/N: Hah ha! I'm torturing you, aren't I? Muahahahaha! And guess what? The next chap's going to be a hell of a lot shorter, _but _it's going to be worth it. Heh . . . heh heh heh. And besides, you can't just stop reading now!

Okay, here's the deal: updates are going to be a tad slower now that school's gonna be starting. No, not as slow as this last one was (sorry again about that, folks), but it's just because I'm gonna be busier this year, that's all.

Hmm . . . what else? Ohhh, yeah: **_PLEASE REVIEW!_**

**Kim**: Ach, es tut mir leid! Ich habe vergessen, daß du mir nicht e-mailen kannst. Und ich konnte das Problem noch nicht loesen! Ahh! Aber ich habe eine loesung: so lange mein Postfach nicht funktioniert, kannst du an diese Adresse schreiben:

Ingrideebert ('at' sign) web.de


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

_**The Perfect Flaw**_

_**Chapter XVIII**_

That night, even Bulma partook in feasting on the birdlike predators--- she was that hungry.

She guessed it really wasn't just to complain; it was top quality compared to the slop served in the mess hall back at the Palace. And anyways, her hunger was more powerful than anything at the moment. She ate through her helping so quickly; there wasn't even time to absorb the exact taste.

After "dinner", Bulma stayed on her side of the fire, quiet. Vegeta, still eating (what a surprise), didn't complain, and as far as she knew he much preferred her silence.

But after a while, when Bulma's head began to throb from struggling with a plan, she looked away, her lips moving subconsciously:

_. . . Lesiu-sa œs hâre me lœkl,_

_lesiu-sa œs hâre đâim me psaŉ._

_Sapra eg' kđhorym men tœnh zhin nama ne_

_Sapra eg' kđhorym men tœnh es sipra ne . . ._

She hadn't even realized the words were coming out of her mouth, until Vegeta stilled in his chewing.

She stopped immediately, a bright pink rising in her cheeks. "S-sorry," she uttered quickly.

"That song . . ."

Bulma blinked. Having expected ridicule or something of the sort, she could not hide her confusion when he instead stared with something unreadable in his eyes . . . almost "enraptured" in a sense (though _that _word was a bit extreme).

"It's 'Sellary's Hymn', isn't it?"

"Y-yeah."

"Hn."

After a waiting a moment to see what else he might say, Bulma ventured, "Why?"

Vegeta crossed his arms over his chest. "It's just interesting that you would sing that."

Not sure how to respond, Bulma looked up at the twinkling blackness just a shooting star sped across the sky. Silently she made her wish. "I always liked that song"--- Bulma let her eyes drift shut--- "though it's still hard to believe it's in reference to_ Saiyans_."

Vegeta's brows drew together at that. "What do you mean?"

"It talks about Saiyans in wars. That I understand perfectly. What I don't understand is its talk about Saiyans having honor." Bulma's lips puckered bitterly as she continued. "If you ask me, your participation in the possession of slaves and purging of worlds is anything but _honorable_; it's _despicable. _And let me tell you something: you underestimate those slaves; they're stronger than you think. And one of these days, I guarantee they'll be your downfall."

Flabbergasted, Vegeta stared blankly while letting her calmly spoken words sink in. Then it was replaced with anger. "You know nothing of honor, so I suggest you shut your mouth before I shut it for you."

Bulma should have stopped there, but unfortunately her filter wasn't fast enough. "You can't hurt me; not now."

Vegeta smirked. "My orders were not to _kill _you. That doesn't mean I can't _harm _you. I can do whatever I want with you."

_Whatever I want with you . . ._

His words sent a chill down Bulma's spine, and she thus decided to change the subject. "Do you like the song?"

Vegeta expected a retort, and was taken slightly aback at the question. "What?"

"Do _you _like the song?"

Hesitating; "Y-yes."

Bulma cocked her head and grinned. "Would ya look at that?" she mused. "We have something in common."

Vegeta studied the woman dubiously, before making his next statement. "You're a strange one."

"Why is it so strange if I have a friendly conversation with you? Don't you ever talk to anyone?"

Vegeta only stared, his jaws grinding. Then without warning, he leaned back against the rock, his eyes averted. "Go to sleep. We're getting up early to search for the last Dragon Ball."

Bulma caught her breath as something heavy pressed against her chest. Without thinking, she asked, softly, "What--- _exactly _do you plan on wishing for?"

She received a glare for that, one that said 'that's none of your business', and quickly she added, "Just . . . curious."

Then Vegeta just laughed. "Let's just say you're looking at the Eternal Ruler of the Universe!"

Destruction played in Bulma's mind as soon as those words left his lips. She imagined the silhouette of a tyrant who stood engulfed in Hell's aura. Before him lied a dead and barren world, fire roaring about him, as millions of slaves roamed the ruins in chains like mindless drones.

He'd be worse than Frieza.

She couldn't let that happen--- she just couldn't . . .

the fate of the entire universe was resting in her hands.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Bulma wasn't sure what time it was when she stirred. She opened her eyes to the night sky which sparkled like a thousand diamonds, and wandered her thoughts.

All those stars; they were all different solar systems, with various planets and civilizations, each and every one of them.

And soon, if she didn't do something, they would all be under Vegeta's rule . . . she couldn't stand the thought.

How Bulma had managed to fall asleep was beyond her. But the point was, she was awake now, and could not afford to do so again. She still had to think of some way to . . .

Suddenly, Bulma was jolted from her thoughts by a small sound. Curious, she turned her head to the source.

Vegeta lay against his rock, his head lolled forward in slumber, both gloved hands empty, the Radar having fallen from his grasp.

_. . . having fallen from his grasp . . ._

Bulma did a double-take, her eyes wide in disbelief.

The Radar . . . was on the ground. Had the Prince really been that tired, to be that careless and fall into such a deep sleep?

_Probably that sun,_ thought Bulma, still feeling weakened by the heat earlier that day. Surely it had affected him as well.

But . . . _What . . . do I do?_

A part of Bulma's mind--- the part with common sense--- flatly told her to ignore it, reminding her that grabbing the thing was not a formidable plan.

But yet, as Bulma did her best to obey her conscience, something kept pulling her gaze to that goddamn Radar. She could gradually feel her heart rate quicken, and her silent breaths became deafening in her ears.

What if she were to grab it? she thought, biting her lip. Was it even possible? What would Vegeta do if he caught her--- that is considering he didn't wake up before she even got a hold of it?

Bulma juggled these questions feverishly in her head, yet feared to answer any of them.

What if . . . ?

_I made a vow that I would get that radar._

_Yeah,_ her conscience protested,_ but you're not going to succeed this way!_

Bulma's eyes clenched shut. _What alternative do I have! Time is running out! There's no other way!_

The blue haired girl kept her eyes closed for another moment, waiting. There was no response.

Her lids fluttering open, Bulma was met with the sight of her father's invention which lay but feet away. But that feeling of temptation, she noted, was no longer there, churning in her stomach. Instead, a wave of conclusion had flooded over her.

Bulma climbed stealthily to her feet.

And the robbery commenced.

It was nerve-wracking as she took her first step. She kept her eyes glued on Vegeta's form, and due to the flickering shadows thrown across him, there were multiple times when it seemed his eyes were open, and those empty dark orbs were locked on her. Though even with this eerie observation, she continued to make her way toward him.

The scouter on his right ear had been brought to her attention also. She knew--- after having dealt with the contraptions on several occasions--- that it also served as a motion detector. However, it was only able to pick up average walking speed or higher. If she were to move slow enough, there was a possibility she would not be detected.

Keeping this in mind, each step took a little more than 40 seconds, approximately--- just in case.She didn't want to take any chances.

Stopping, Bulma bent down with her trembling hand moving to the Radar. But something froze her there, and she wouldn't have been able to move, even if she'd wanted to.

For it was just sinking in:

she was going to die. Whether it was in just a few moments, or when she was taken back to Vegeta.

What would the next life be like though? Surely she'd go to Heaven? To a place far away from enslavement or those despicable Saiyans? But then . . . what if there was no Heaven or Hell? What if death was death, and there was no afterwards? Just--- nothingness; no thought; no sound; no light; no dark . . . just . . . vast, wide, empty nothingness . . . for eternity?

Now _that _was a scary thought (one that made Bulma think twice about doing this), a thought that Bulma nervously pushed away. Then her hand began inching forward again. Her fingers skillfully wrapped themselves around the devise, and as slow as cold honey, she slowly brought it to her chest.

She'd done it; he hadn't woken up.

Bulma bit back the girlish giggle as she cautiously turned and began tiptoeing off in the other direction. Now it was time to get out of there for good.

And suddenly, Bulma felt inexplicably stupid. And just how was she supposed to make it out of there? Did she really expect to tiptoe the entire way? _God**dammit**! _She had overlooked this part! She hadn't expected she make it this far.

_Guess I'll just have to make it till I'm out of the scouter's range, then make a run for it._

Wasn't much of a plan, but it would have to do.

Step by step, Bulma made it farther away from the area. She'd already escaped from the ring of light cast out by the fire, and from earshot of the crackling flames. After a few minutes, she grew impatient, and her pace quickened ever so slightly.

Then finally, Bulma tasted victory. She looked back over her shoulder at the campsite that was yards away, grinning. _I . . . made it._

From there she broke out into a jog.

_I made it._

Her legs were weak and tired, but she didn't care.

_I'm free._

Then all hope vanished, as Bulma's foot caught something. She gave a yelp, and pitched forward.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Vegeta woke immediately to a short shriek that could be heard over the flames. The first thing his eyes darted to was the spot at which the Bulma had been laying.

It was empty.

Something undecipherable rolled in the pit of the Saiyan's stomach, and no particular assumptions came to mind. Then something flashed instinctually in his head, and he looked down into his empty hands.

_. . . his **empty **hands . . ._

His eyes darted back up, and this time, dancing flames could be seen shining in their depths.

And not the fire's flames---

but flames of rage.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"Shit!" Bulma whispered hoarsely, acknowledging the fact that she'd just done what she thought she'd done. Frantic, she pushed herself to her feet and started forward again, looking over her shoulder to see if Vegeta had aroused.

But Vegeta wasn't there . . .

Bulma screamed when she ran full force into what felt like a wall--- the impact of which threw her painfully to her bottom. Disarrayed, she looked up to see Vegeta towering over her, his face rigid, his gaze blank and burning--- and his tail lashing. Only one word came to mind: murderous.

Without thinking, and with a small squeak, Bulma again sprung to her feet, not sparing him another glance as she started in the opposite direction. She wasn't sure why she thought this would get her anywhere; for immediately she felt his fingers furl around her arm. This didn't stop her though. "Let . . . **GO**!" She screamed and howled, doing her best to yank herself free from his grasp. It was futile; his grip only tightened, like a vice, until the point where that was the cause for Bulma's shrieks.

"Going somewhere, Woman?"

Next thing she knew, Bulma was jerked back and spun in one swift movement. She could feel the Prince's body heat radiating into her as he closed the distance between them, and she was so close to him, she could feel each warm breath distinctly on her face.

But soon that was the last thing on her mind.

Again she found herself locked with those eyes. It was like they were all she could see. The anger in them had somewhat subsided, and they now shone with a strange glint, something indefinite. But all she knew, was that as she stared into those eyes, everything else seemed to melt away, and nothing mattered anymore. She'd forgotten who she was, who he was, why she was here, why she was afraid . . .

Bulma wasn't sure who'd gone in first, but it didn't matter, for before she even realized what was happening, her lips were on his.

This was a new feeling, a new experience, and Bulma wasn't exactly sure what to do. The other's lips were rough and warm against hers, so she was rough, too. She dove into them like she was starved, taking in the sweet sensation of his mouth on hers, relishing this strange, new feeling.

She felt weightless . . . carefree.

When suddenly, it hit her. It all swam over her like a tidal wave: who she was, who he was, why she was here . . . and why she was afraid.

And soon she couldn't feel anything anymore.

Whether it was out of terror for what she'd just done, or something he did to her, she didn't know. Soon she could feel no sensation, as her world went spinning into darkness . . .

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

A/N: I _really _hope you liked this chap; if you didn't, please go easy on me.

**_9 REVIEWS PLEASE. _**(126)

Translation for text above:

_. . . You can strip him of his armor,_

_and even of his pride._

_For honor is all of which a soldier has,_

_and honor is all of which he needs . . ._

_8-28-05_

This is something I should have done last chap. I've finally reached 100, and it's all thanks to you! Thanks go to:

**Draguna**

**AngelDemon18**

**mustang07**

**Ryoka-space-pirate **

**nessy2008**

**PanPan**

**GothicBlacre**

**LadyWater**

**Leelo77**

**Princess Crack a' Lackin**

**Luna-Divine**

**Takuma**

**kimee**

**Tempesst**

**PikDame**

**Aryan**

**cecy**

**remecum**

**Devils-only-one**

**Miss Midajah**

**sabudabu**

**Kiki**

**Vetygas Rath**

**VegetasBrat2009**

**bebex2xsweet**

**miroku-has-darkness**

**TheEvilFairy**

**Firechild19**

**Mimo-chi**

**Vicki**

**Garowyn**

**Jill**

**dorothy**

**Chris Bennett**

**SamSamHp**

**Death's Obsession**

**jessie**

**BongoQueenBlue**

**NAN DE MO CHIBI OTOKO**

**Kimmy**

**Five star**

**ToraNoKo123**

Please, if I've left anyone out, tell me. I want to thank you.

**Other News:** Has everyone been watching the news about Hurricane Katrina? I was watching it earlier today, and I dunno why I'm writing this, but I just wanted to try to describe this feeling I have. It's the strangest feeling: it's like, as I see all those people standing in line to take shelter, it's almost as if I feel like I should be there, too. Not because I think I can do anything or anything like that, but cuz I feel like, like _I _should be sharing those individuals' dread and fear, like _I _should be there to weep with them and share their same pain. For you may say you know of their pain, and you do, but you can't really _feel_ it, unless you're there with them, experiencing it first hand. I almost feeling too fortunate--- or _guilty_; here I am in my warm, safe bed, when what--- _a thousand people or more _are facing a chance that their lives or the life of a loved-one may be coming to an end. I dunno, it's just a weird feeling--- hard to describe really. Just kinda felt like writing about it, maybe see if anyone else can relate. : reviewers look at author worriedly; "Uhhh . . . Juclesia? Are you feeling alright?":


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

_**The Perfect Flaw**_

_**Chapter XIX**_

_Idiot, _Vegeta scolded himself. _You really are a fool._ Sighing, the Prince lay his head back, thoughtful.

Now that he sat here in silence, the fugitive laying just feet away— unconscious— he wondered just what the hell had been running through his head. Just what _had _happened? What had caused him to . . .?

Had he not be furious with her when he spun her around, had not the intention of brutal murder been etched in his mind?

Oh, it had, for he could recall his emotions clearly. The anger still felt fresh, like a stubborn flame refusing to die down completely. But it was also mixed with the current anger, the anger for himself, for this confusion and frustration. He just didn't understand what had happened! Yes, he'd admit it just like he had before, she was an attractive alien. But had he really allowed his lust to go so far? Far enough to actually lock lips with the creature? Last he had done something like that— it'd been one moon ago, when he'd experimented with the servant girl. Perhaps he was just going through another phase? Like he had back then?

Vegeta sighed again, closed his eyes as a shameful confession crossed his mind: in fact, if Bulma hadn't fainted, who knows _what _they'd be doing right now. A strange heat burned his cheeks as an alien image flickered against his eyelids; he let out a soft growl. _Idiot! You're just lucky that didn't happen! You know the possible consequences of that!_

On Vegeta, it was forbidden to make sexual contact with a foreigner or slave. Well, okay,not _forbidden— _just— _scolded, disgraceful. _That's why his father had kept the whole 'ordeal' 'secret', hidden away from media and public knowledge. However, it depended on the type of slave. If the slave's sole purpose in life was that of a concubine, then it was considered acceptable, for the females would have already been accurately neutered— thus preventing the accidental impregnation of one. But any other slave, a builder, a _science _worker— to have relations with them, it was looked upon as a display of poor judgment and character.

Ergo, what would he have done had he actually gone that far? How could he have been so stupid as to jeopardize his honor? To do— _that? _With a _slave?_

Vegeta's eyes shifted to where Bulma lay. She was breathing soundly, her lips parted ever so slightly, her cheeks pink from the fire's warmth. She looked so— _innocent. _Who would have known such an attractive, angelic looking creature could be so much trouble? Already he felt two moons older, just having been in her company. She was loud, obnoxious, impertinent . . .

Vegeta growled as the anger once again flared.

. . . and _a dead fool!_

How dare she!— Vegeta looked down at his clenched fists---how_ dare she _make a fool out of him! How dare she think him so low, that she goes and tries to run off with his Radar! That insolent, overbearing, stubborn, ignorant— . . . .

"Vegeta . . ."

The Saiyan froze. All thought vanished as his eyes darted back to the blue haired human.

"Vegeta . . ." she mumbled again. She was still slumbering, Vegeta noted, but no longer peacefully. Her body shudderedas though chilled,grewstiff, while herknucklesturned a deathlywhite.Eyes clenched, a tear glided down her cheek. " . . . please . . . don't . . ."

_She's dreaming about me?_

Vegeta scowled, turned away once more. Feh. What did he care? It didn't make any difference if he had let his lust take control for but a moment, she was still just a slave. A doomed slave. Vegeta didn't doubt for a second that the girl would become an example to the empire, an example of what could happen to someone if treason were to even _cross _their mind. Her death would be gruesome and torturous, he knew. Arms blown from their sockets, flesh singed away from her slender fingers. Yes, gruesome indeed.

Well, there were just two more Dragon Balls to find anyway, so no need stressing over the tiny incident.

_Stressing, who's stressing?_

But now, Vegeta gave up. He'd admit that he had underestimated the fugitive, a second time. But not again. From now on, he was going to keep an even closer eye on her—

and on himself.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Waking up the next morning was like waking up in flames.

Her lids cracked opened ever so slightly, and still the sunlight sliced through them, causing knots of pain to spread just above her brow like lava. Bulma groaned, lolled her head from side to side. For a moment she wasn't sure exactly where she was; the pain was presently too preoccupying. Then a cool shadow fell over her, as a guttural voice spilled into her mind: "Well, what do you know? The human's finally awake."

And suddenly it hit her. Like lightning she bolted upright, looking up into the cold ebony eyes which alone put a winter chill into the thick, heated air. "Wha–- where— what happened—?" She could have sworn that just seconds ago millions of stars had spattered the black sky, and that they'd been— . . .

"You fainted," said Vegeta, bluntly. He turned and began walking in the opposite direction.

"Oh."

Well this was . . . awkward. First of all, he said it as if her fainting was no big deal. Which it was! She couldn't even remember doing so.

But she could remember before that. The kiss.

Subconsciously Bulma brushed her fingers against her tingling lips. Had that really happened, or had it been just a dream? A part of her mind told her it had been all in her head, which made sense because _why _would Vegeta have even thought about doing something like that; but then the other part, unfortunately the one that made more sense, argued, askingwhy elseshe would have fainted?

She reluctantly gave in to the second logic.

Second of all, how! How in the hell hadhis furyresulted in them kissing, and why was he acting like nothing had ever happened? Wouldthings be different now? Should they be? Should she just ignore it, too? And pretend it never happened?

Could she?

The freshrecollection crept into her mind. She remembered the feeling of his lips as they'd ravaged hers, the warmth, the butterflies that'd fluttered in her stomach. It was just . . . inconceivable. She couldn't believe it. She had kissed— not to mention her _first _kiss— the _Saiyan Prince. _A lethal murderer. The strongest being in the universe next to Frieza. It was strange. A part of her felt disgusted, while another part of her felt . . . special.

_While another part felt . . ._

Third . . .

"What the hell did you do to me!" hollered Bulma, confusion melting into anger.

Vegeta turned, bewildered. "What did I _do _to you?"

"Yeah! I was unconscious, wasn't I!" She wrapped her arms about her form. "What did you do to me while I was defenseless, hmmm?"

Vegeta scowled. "You're the most conceited slave I've ever met," he said. "I didn't do a damn thing to you, and nor would I want to."

_Then why did you kiss me?_

Luckily Bulma caught herself before saying this. She had no desire to make him too angry, as she was sure this statement would do so. She had enough problems at the moment: she was tired, the confusion was beginning to give her a headache, the Radar was . . .

Bulma gasped. The Radar! She was such an idiot! God dammit! What was she going to do?

Wasn't it obvious? there was nothing she could do. She'd failed, the Radar was back in his possession . . . the universe was doomed.

"Now," the Prince continued, "if you're done spewing asinine accusations, then it's time to go."

Sulking, Bulma nodded. Guess the case was closed then. He was putting it behind them after all; hadn't even mentioned it.

Just when she was about to comply, Vegeta whirled on her, his eyes flashing and his teeth bared. "And if you even _think_ about trying to escape with the Radar again, or even escaping for that matter, I swear I will take your impending death into my own hands. Understand?"

Again, the girl nodded, eyes wide. Vegeta relaxed slightly. "Good. Now, let's go."

As Bulma coiled her arms securely around Vegeta neck in preparation for takeoff, she acknowledged a strange, unfamiliar emotion that seemed to momentarily stray into her. One that hadn't been there before.

It was almost like . . . an itch to kiss him again . . .

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

A/N: Sorry for the wait (and I know it was short); I've been really busy with school and track and piano. You can check my bio anytime for updates, I'll say whether or not I'm working on it, whether or not I've started on it, and whether or not I'm even continuing the story or just putting it on hold. So yeah . . .

**_9 reviews please! _**(160)


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

A/N: I'M BAAAAAAAAAAAAACK:)

:fans cheer "Finally! We thought you died!":

_**The Perfect Flaw**_

_**Chapter XX**_

The entire flight was silence.

Well, save for the vicious wind that tore past them.

Bulma felt so . . . _confused_. She couldn't decide whether she was angry, o-or shocked . . . a strange feeling swirled like a brewing hurricane inside her stomach, menacing and dark. Why was this happening? Why now? She . . . she couldn't seriously _like _him!—

could she?

No. No no no no no no. Impossible. This was the _Saiyan Prince _she was talking about_— _the most ruthless, most evil, strongest being in the universe next to Freeza. But . . . why was it suddenly so hard to see that? It was like, even though she thought this in her head, repeating it over and over, when she looked at him— she could only see the guy who had so passionately kissed her last night. Heh, it was funny associating that kind of stuff with _Prince Vegeta_. But alas, it was the truth. He had kissed her he had kissed her he had kissed her he had kissed her.

And she had kissed him back . . .

_No— _

And how dare he! Arrrgh! How _dare _he have the _nerve _to just act like nothing had happened! How could he? How could he so easily push it to the back of his mind? Or was it true, that Saiyans did in fact have superior control over emotions? Because, hell, she sure wasn't finding it as easy to just— _forget _about it!

And it was all the more frustrating, knowing she couldn't dare risk mentioning it to him. Who knows what his reaction would be.

But, thought Bulma suddenly, _had _he truly forgotten about it?

Now there was a thought.

Rumor had it that Saiyans were the most advanced when it came to controlling the heart (as far as emotions go anyway), that they had a permanent mask which portrayed only anger or impassiveness, that in the entire history of Planet Vegeta, not one Saiyan had ever shed a tear, or shown remorse or sadness . . . or love.

But just because no emotion was displayed . . . doesn't mean he wasn't _feeling _it . . . _inside. _Could it not be possible, that perhaps, he in fact was thinking about it? At that very moment?

Was he thinking about her? Was he incessantly reliving that kiss in his head, as she was?

Oh, dear God, she wanted to cry, she wanted to scream, she wanted to tug at her hair. If only she weren't immobilized by Vegeta's iron grip—

his warm, strong, secure, iron grip—

_Ah! No! Stop it! stop it now! Don't you see? He doesn't care about you! You're just cargo. Now get ahold of yourself! He's just toying with your emotions_. _He doesn't care about you— and you don't care about him._

_But I do! Help me, God, I do!_

_You don't!_

_I do! Please! Please! I just want this feeling to go away! This can't be happening to me! I hated him!_ _I absolutely loathed him!_

_Hated . . . loathed . . ._

_Past tense._

Suddenly, subconsciously, a whimper wrenched itself from Bulma's lips. Vegeta's head whirled, and he looked at the woman in his arms, puzzled, his glare caught up in a mixture of annoyance and surprise.

But little did he know, she was just as surprised as he was. As hard as Bulma tried to fight it, she could rapidly feeling the color that rose to her cheeks as she struggled to find an explanation. "I . . . I— er— it's just— really cold."

Well, she wasn't lying. It was freezing up here, even with Vegeta's ki-charged body warmth. But it wasn't the real reason.

Vegeta's lips twitched slightly, and Bulma blinked while trying to interpret what it meant. She supposed it was probably annoyance, mostly, but her guess was as good as anybody else's.

"Well, perfect timing. We're here," he said, turning back to face the wind. Then he chuckled. She never would have been able to hear it over the wind, but she knew, because she felt the rumble in his chest as it transferred into her chest, like an echo. And boy, it sent an army of butterflies straight down to her stomach.

She was so preoccupied with warding off the tickle in her abdomen, that she hardly even noticed when ground was under her feet.

However, she noticed right away when the body heat she'd become so familiar with retreated from her.

"H-hey!" she called as she rushed after Vegeta's receding form.

He was reaching inside his armor for the Radar by the time she caught up with his stride, and her eyes locked upon its red, polished surface, as though she were a child just having spotted a red balloon.

But Vegeta paid her no attention, as his eyes instead fell upon the rich forest that lied ahead. "It's in there somewhere," he stated absently, mostly to himself.

And suddenly, a dim feeling of recognition stirred inside Bulma, as she noted the faint puffs of smoke which floated up above the trees, only to fade discreetly into the blue sky.

Why . . . was it so familiar?

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

A/N: Miss me? Haha, you probably hate me! I know I get mad when someone hasn't updated in what seems like decades, and then I forget what their story was even about, and I get mad cause then I have to go back and read from the beginning, and then— yeah, you get my point.

Believe me, I really was trying. First I stopped writing, cause my German exchange student was here for like two and half weeks. Then, after she left, I sat down at the computer, and was like, "Okay, now I can write," and then would you look at that! I had writer's block. Nooooo! Curse you writer's block! Plus, I got really busy, and I mean, _really _busy.

But anyway, I felt really good about this chapter (except for the length. Sorry for it being so short again, folks, but this is where I'd initially planned to end the chapter, so here it ends.). I found it pretty easy to write it, cuz frankly, I'm going through the exact same emotions Bulma is right now. So I felt like I was just pouring _my _emotions on paper, in third person of course.

Hmm: taps chin thoughtfully: anything else?

Oh, yeah . . .

**_9 REVIEWS PLEASE!_** **(177)** C'mon, you don't want me to stop this far into the story, do you?


End file.
